


A Hellish Alchemy: Into the Maelstrom

by iwtv



Series: A Hellish Alchemy [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anne & Thomas bond, Billy is always grumpy, Coping, Dealing with Homophobia, Gen, Lots of Rescuing, M/M, TRIGGER WARNING non-con sexual situations (not rape but close), Thomas & Silver bond, and ship battles, canon divergence after 2 10, god i hope i didn't screw up the ship names, i went fairly deep with research for this one, it's musical fucking ships here i swear, lots of naval strategies, past trauma, rum drinking, sequel to A Hellish Alchemy, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Thomas return to New Providence and the swarm of British that await them there, both still struggling to overcome their personal demons. The Walrus and the Urca gold on her are in danger of being discovered by British forces, but John Silver worries that something “far more damaging” is going to be discovered as well, jeopardizing everything. .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick summary of A Hellish Alchemy if you didn't/don't read it: (Which you really ought to!)
> 
> James becomes wounded after a raid on the Virginia coast and is found by Thomas, who had been released from Bethlam Hospital and found meager work as an indentured servant on a plantation. The two of them return to sea and become caught up in fighting against the return of Captain Hume and the Scarborough. They're captured and taken prisoner, escape just barely, and wind up making a home for themselves off the coast of Florida. Then Silver returns in Blackbeard's ship and convinces James to help him reclaim Nassau after the British have taken it over and captured Blackbeard himself.
> 
> Also, I decided to play musical ships...the Spanish man o'war (now the Marcus Aurelius!) is trapped in Nassau's harbor so Silver is temporarily captain of the Queen Anne.

New Providence-interior

1716

 

The wooden drawer creaked, resisting his pull on it from long disuse. The faint scent of must hit his nose. The black tricorne hat was first. He pulled it out and set it aside. Next came the heavy blue coat with its silver embroidery and buttons, looking the same as the last day he’d worn it. Miranda had been careful to fold it neatly; there wasn’t a single crinkle in it. Then there was his black cravat, waist coat, and white trousers. And lastly, at the bottom of the drawer were the black boots. They were flattened and wrinkled but the leather still retained a faint gloss of newer days.

He took all the items and laid them on the bed, staring at them as though they might leap up and bite him—a sentiment not far from the truth, he thought. Finally he began undressing, stripping away the rugged clothes he’d worn for so long. He picked out the white trousers and undershirt and put them on. Already he felt silly as he fidgeted with the neck scarf, stuffing it under his collar. It felt alien, annoying.

The waist coat and boots came on quickly. He shifted around in the coat. It too felt like a foreign thing, unbelonging to the body that now wore it. He’d forgotten the weight of it, of the material and all those buttons—ridiculous, really. He placed the hat on his head, giving it a tug for good measure as he used to.

He stood facing the bed, unwilling to turn and face the mirror. When at last he did turn, his pulse quickened. There he was. His hair was much shorter now, with no queue, but even so the face that stared back at him was James McGraw. Everything was as it should be…and yet it was all horribly wrong.

His face carried more worry lines on it now; the lines curving beside his lips were deeper. And his eyes…Christ, were those his eyes? The same color as before, but somehow darker.

It was like someone had thrown a stone into his reflection and it had twisted on itself. He spun away from the mirror, chest heaving. His palms were sweaty. He turned them into fists, willing himself to regain control. He felt weakened at some core level of his being, as though putting on the clothes was akin to wrapping the past around him, letting it overtake him again, as all his confidence teetered precariously on the edge…

 

 

At sea

3 weeks previous

 

John Silver leaned over the railing to the Queen Anne's Revenge. It was drizzling down rain, yet he did not mind the sea spray that fizzed in his face. The weather had been miserable as of late and any crew who were not needed topside kept themselves within the drier confines below deck.

It was one of the reasons he’d decided to remain on the quarterdeck—to find some solitude. Such a thing was hard-won on a ship—unless of course you were the captain. And Flint was still captain, in spirit if not in actual deed, despite his and Silver’s agreement. The men listened to Silver, obeyed his orders, yet it was Flint who commanded the Spanish warship on the way back to Nassau. It was Flint whom the crew still cleared a path for, and it was Flint who the men trusted to steer them towards their gold.

They respected him too, Silver knew. Yet it was not so much about respect as it was experience. Flint knew how to navigate better and knew all the finer nuances of command than did Silver—a pill which the younger man found bitter to swallow at times. He had to remind himself that he had only been a simple sailor scarcely three years ago, then a cook. Flint, however, had been a pirate captain for over a decade.

He shook such thoughts away from him and left the stern railing. He found himself drifting over to the top of the stairs, where the captain’s door came into view through the wet haze of the drizzle. Ever since he had gone and fetched Flint from Santa Ybel, the man had spent most of his time holed up in his quarters with Thomas.

They were so very careful, too, not to draw attention to themselves.

Silver wondered if Thomas was in there now. Did they sit at Flint’s desk and discuss Marcus bloody Aurelius, or did they just fuck all the time?

Silver found he didn’t care one way or another, but what the rest of the crew would think was another matter entirely. He did not want Flint’s romantic attachments to upset the delicate balance of the ship. The knowledge that their captain was a pillow biter would undoubtedly stir at least some of the men in the wrong way even if this was a nation of men who no longer wore the yolk of civilized society.

So Silver casually dissuaded the curious inquiries that came his way: Who was Thomas Hamilton? Was Flint lying about their past? Did Hamilton have something to do with the Barlow woman? Silver had overheard DeGroot speaking to two other men in their bunks late one night about the last topic. He’d let them mutter on about it because none of them had given any indication they suspected anything more between Flint and Hamilton.

Flint was lucky, Silver knew, that his companionship with the now dead Miranda seemed to derail most conversations about him and Thomas.

Even so, Silver felt that Flint’s affair on the ship was like rigging with too much weight; one day it would snap under the pressure and everyone would notice.

He felt more than heard the boots drop down off the ratlines behind him. Silver turned just enough to glance at Billy Bones, who joined him at the railing, huffing and puffing. Silver offered him his canteen. Billy’s brow furrowed.

“It’s your share,” he said pointedly.

Silver shrugged and looked up into the rain. “It’s been raining for a fucking week. I don’t think we’ll die of thirst anytime soon.”

Billy made a “hmm” noise and accepted the water. He motioned up to the ratlines on the mizzenmast behind them.

“Too bad you couldn’t help me fix that rigging. Then you’d have reason to exert yourself. Make you work for a change.”

Silver gave him a half grin. He tapped on his iron leg.

“Try getting used to this bastard, then talk to me about rigging.”

They both turned their heads as the single, familiar creak of the captain’s door caught their ear. It was Thomas who emerged. He spotted the two of them and made his way up the stairs towards them.

Billy greeted him with his usual nod and grunt.

“Mr. Hamilton,” said Silver, leaning over the railing and staring at the gray ocean below them. “What brings you out here on such a fine day?”

“The captain wanted that I should ask you about our current heading. He said you would enjoy the practice.”

Silver took a measured breath, noticing the tiny grin that Thomas tried to hide on his face. Billy, however, nudged Silver in the arm, grinning openly.

“Yea Silver,” said Billy, clearly amused. “A fine day for navigating, as you said. A fine day.”

Billy brushed past him. Silver frowned openly at him, then at Thomas.

“You may tell the captain that I cannot use an astrolabe in this weather, as I’m sure he already knows; it will not work.”

Thomas shrugged. “I’m sure he is aware, but I was to deliver the message to you all the same. What shall I tell him?”

Silver hissed between his teeth. “That bloody damn—”

He cut himself off, glancing at Thomas, who still wore the minuscule grin on his lips. Silver planted an irritable smile across his face.

“Tell him I will get our heading as soon as I am able.”

Thomas nodded. Silver could not read his expression, though Silver swore his bright blue eyes shone with amusement. As Silver passed by him he fixed the taller man with what he hoped was a somber gaze.

“You both had better be careful.”

He saw the grin fade. Thomas met his stare but said nothing. Satisfied his warning was understood, Silver took his leave.

***

James walked into the less than fresh odor of the ship’s belly, where the two thieves of his gold sat against a post in the darkness. They rose quickly to their feet when they saw who had opened the hatch.

Jack Rackham stepped into the dim light of the lantern James carried. James held it up high so that he squinted and raised his manacled wrists to his face. Beside him, Anne Bonny glared from under the brim of her hat, the usual daggers in her eyes. James had always admired her; her resilience and fearlessness reminded him of Miranda. Not now, however. His initial anger at both of them had faded into an annoyance, now that they no longer held sway over him.

“At last,” said Jack. “The long lost Captain Flint has returned. Are you here to gloat?”

James snorted through his nose. He sat the lantern down, then pulled up a storage crate and gestured for Rackham to sit back down. Anne, however, remained standing behind him in the shadows, like a wolf ready to strike. Flint eyed her.

“You too.”

Bonny’s sharp green eyes peaked at him from under her hat, narrowing. Jack reached up and placed a hand over her back to ask for her compliance and she slowly sunk down beside him.

“Now that you’ve had adequate time to consider your position,” said James, “I need to know if I can trust you enough to unleash you.”

Rackham frowned and made a ‘tuh’ sound.

“As if we have a choice,” he said. “I assume you are going to keep us close once we return to Nassau. And besides, as much as I hate to admit the truth of things that work against my own plans…the truth is that New Providence is overrun with the British. Therefore, it would seem prudent that we work with you to at least attempt to reclaim the island—if that is indeed the plan.”

James had to fight to keep his expression neutral. Aside from himself, Jack was easily the most cunning and intelligent of Nassau’s pirates and his deductions of their current situation as well as James's plans proved that once more.

James gave him a curt nod to tell him he was right. He turned his attention to Anne.

“And you? Are you in agreement?”

Anne took off her hat to gaze evenly at him, revealing a very feminine face through the well-kept mask of contempt she wore.

“I’ve gotten used to dealin’ with assholes I don’ like lately,” she said. “What’s one more?”

She shrugged, still frowning at James, though her gaze had turned less cold. “’Sides, if the Brits get to that gold on the Walrus, we’ll all be fucked.”

James couldn’t hide the lop-sided grin that came to his lips. He nodded at her despite being referred to as an asshole. Jack held out his arms, manacles clanging together. James pulled the ring of skeleton keys from his belt and unlocked him, then those of his partner’s.

“If either of you try anything at all, I’ll keel haul you,” he said flatly as their bonds clanged to the floor and they rubbed their wrists.

“And what of our weapons?” asked Jack as they followed James to the hatchway. James stopped and turned to him with a heavy scowl. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please. You’ve just threatened to drag us under the ship if we move against you. I know you know I’m not that stupid.”

“Fine,” grunted James. “Go find Joji. He’ll give them to you.”

“One other thing, James,” said Jack as James opened the hatch.

James paused and looked over his shoulder, gray light from the dreary day filtering down over Jack’s thin face.

“I’m a captain now, in case you had not heard.”

“I have.”

“Then you should know that my men will not take lightly the fact that their captain was held prisoner by you.”

Now it was James's turn to roll his eyes.

“Your men scarcely know you and don’t trust you yet. I don’t think they’ll give a shit.”

He opened the hatch and made his way through, not listening to whatever Rackham said behind him.

***

Silver laughed.

“You actually said that to him?”

James nodded. They stood at the forecastle while the drizzle and sea spray soaked them. James and a few of the veteran sailors were the only other souls out in the weather; the rest were down below. Silver was shivering next to him and trying not to show it. James glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“You should go below. We can discuss matters tomorrow.”

Silver shrugged, hugging his arms to him.

“Just a bit of rain,” he said. “Though I now understand the expression ‘soaked to the bone.’”

He turned to leave but paused.

“You will let me address the men early tomorrow, then? Everything we discussed, about what we may face at New Providence?”

James nodded, still staring out past the bowsprit and into the gray haze that rose from the waters like the abyss come to swallow the ship whole. The effect was intensified as dusk descended over them.

“Tell them to expect the unexpected,” said James. “Keep the gold foremost in their minds. That is our priority, once any threat from the British is taken care of.”

Silver nodded.

“And if and when you get the Walrus back and Edward Teach gets this ship back, what’s to become of me?”

James turned from the mesmerizing gray abyss to face him. Silver was looking at him imploringly with his deep blue eyes. James figured he was asking about his captaincy. He thought a moment. The Marcus Aurelius was definitely his ship; it was a ship-of-the-line war vessel and he’d bled a lot taking her—with Silver’s help, however. Even so he wasn’t about to give her up. Furthermore the Walrus had been a good ship to him for a number of years and he thought of it as his ship by default. Silver had no real ship and the crew—a hodge-podge mix of his own old crew, Vane’s and Teach’s—would be no real crew to him at all.

James sighed. This was one headache he did not wish to deal with at the moment. More and more thoughts of Thomas were distracting him; they had scarcely laid eyes on one another all day.

James licked his lips and walked off the forecastle, back behind the foremast. Silver followed him, a thumb hooked into his belt.

“I can’t promise you anything,” James said. “If you truly wish to remain a captain, you’ll have to get your own ship, your own crew. Once we retake the Walrus…we’ll see.”

He gave Silver a hard-nosed look, though for some reason he found it hard to hold.

He reminded himself that the Silver looking at him now was not the same Silver that had stolen the log page nearly two years ago.

James had never been good with gentlemanly affection, but now he gave Silver’s back a pat. It was the best he could do. Silver’s deep blue eyes softened and he nodded.

“Right then,” he said, swinging down to the main gun deck. His iron leg was hardly an impediment and he moved with almost as much grace as before. He squinted up at James through the drizzle. “Think I’ll indulge in a little night nip. Care to join me?”

“Thank you, but no. If I don’t get out of these clothes soon I’ll fucking melt.”

Silver gave him a devilish grin, staring up at him through his brows.

“Wet clothes are tight, but I’m sure you’ll have all the help you need with Thom—”

“Good night, John,” James bellowed down to him, masking the rest of Silver’s words and marching across the deck without looking down at the other man.

***

James shut the door and crossed the room to his hammock, immediately stripping off the heavy wet leather coat and the scarf he’d put on that morning to ward off the rain, though now it was as soaked as everything else. Thomas was at the bookshelf against the stern wall. There were no candles or lanterns lit. Thomas smiled warmly at him. He still wore a vest and boots.

“I just came in myself,” he said. “Mr. Scott has taken to my stories of high English society. He laughs and laughs when I tell him of how obsessed they all are with gossip and fashion and politics. And after a lengthy story session I found myself fascinated with a game of dice being played among the bunks.”

Thomas left the book shelf and came over to where James was wrestling out of his shirt. James looked up sharply.

“They were gambling?”

“For their future share of the gold only,” Thomas reassured him.

James peeled one sleeve off then the other. He sat down on the rich red hammock and took off his boots. A chill ran through him as the cool night air ran across his bare chest. Thomas quickly picked up one of the folded squares of linen at the window seat.

“Here. You’re positively soaked.”

James made to take the sheet but Thomas opened it, fluffed it, and draped it over James's shoulders and back. James crooked a smile.

“Thank you.”

He finished removing his boots and started on his pants. Thomas turned away and made for the pine liquor cabinet next to the captain’s desk. The layout of the quarters was not terribly dissimilar from the Marcus Aurelius, though the English, Thomas noted, certainly had a different sense of fashion. Instead of the black and gold paint of the Spanish warship, this cabin was themed in silver and blue, which suited him just fine. He didn’t know whether the pine bookcase and liquor cabinet were new additions since Captain Teach had taken the ship or not, though he was certain neither were very old. The smell of pine was most pleasing to him, especially after a prolonged voyage.

He and James had left with Silver from Santa Ybel just as planned; the very next day after Silver had found them. It had not been too hard to leave their little home behind. Thomas had made certain to ask Tolgua of the Calusa tribe to watch over it for them. The tribe had given them provisions of fish and shellfish for the journey. It had been enough for the two of them plus James's key crew members—Silver, Billy and Mr. Scott. Thomas and James had both thanked the tribe profusely for all their help. Tolgua had promised to watch after their home, even offering (or threatening, as James had put it) to have his craftsmen build on new additions to it. Thomas chuckled to himself, remembering how amusing it was to see James almost throw a fit over that.

Now, as he inhaled the thick and sweet of the pine he was reminded of Santa Ybel and their little home and his heart soared to think of it as such. He reached into the liquor cabinet and pulled out a decanter of brandy and two glasses. James had dried off and dressed and followed his movements with a raised brow.

“Tomorrow is important,” he said.

“We haven’t had a decent drink in weeks,” said Thomas, pouring him a glass and sliding it across the desk top amidst the scattered charts and maps. James scowled at the glass. Thomas came around to the front of the desk and leaned against it. He slowly snaked his hand over to the glass and stuck out an index finger, nudging it another inch towards James. He grinned when James looked up at him with mock indignation.

“Just a little,” said James, taking the glass in hand and having a sip. He leaned against the desk beside Thomas.

“So what did Mr. Rackham and Ms. Bonny have to say?” Thomas asked.

“Huh. Well, they both agreed not to try and escape or to kill me. Jack understands the situation as well as I do.”

“He’s the crafty one you told me about?”

“Indeed. He’s a scrawny bastard but he’s smart. I let them out of the hold. They’re free to move around as they please.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Don’t worry. They’re not a threat. As I said, Jack’s too smart. He knows better. And besides, he’s guessed that I’m going to try and retake Nassau. We need all the help we can get.”

Thomas took a deep breath and nodded. A deep breath before the plunge, he thought. He was reminded of when he jumped off the side of The Scarborough to face the brutal sting of the ocean some twenty feet below him and shuddered. Not a literal plunge, to be sure, but no one, not even James, could predict what would happen tomorrow.

No matter what James said to the contrary, Thomas felt like one of them now, like a pirate. He certainly felt as far away from English society as he ever had.

“Are you nervous?” James asked.

Thomas took a drink and swallowed slowly, savoring the quick burn.

“Of course,” he said. “Nervous, anxious…perhaps a little frightened,” he admitted shyly.

James sat his glass down and stood in front of him. He planted his bare feet on either side of Thomas's booted ones, straddling him and placing a hand over his on the desk. Thomas inhaled deeply the scent of the sea before him.

“You will remain on the ship and will go below if there’s any danger,” James said, jade eyes boring into Thomas's. “Your weapons are your words.”

“Mmm. Do you think there’s even a chance of diplomacy? Of negotiating?”

“Honestly I don’t know.”

Thomas took a small drink and sat his glass down. He weaved his fingers into James's and pulled on them so that James's body was pressed against his own, their faces inches away.

“I’m more worried about you,” Thomas said, eyes dancing all over James's rugged features. James glanced off to the side and smiled.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve made it this far.”

“True. But not completely unscathed.”

Thomas reached under his shirt and lifted it, revealing the puzzlework of light and heavy scars that were emblazoned onto his stomach and chest. He could not help but to trace their contours with his fingers, as he always did. James gently pushed his shirt back down, lips lightly pressing against Thomas's before he removed himself from Thomas's front side and picked his drink back up.

“Scars can have a certain power to them,” he said, taking up the right window seat. He leaned back against its wall, one foot propped up. Thomas joined him, sitting opposite.

“Let me guess,” he mused. “You’re going to say they have the power to remind you that the past is real, that each one tells a story about where you’ve been.”

James didn’t reply for a long moment. He gazed out the stern window, though it was dark by now and the stern lanterns’ light hanging outside could not pierce the growing fog and drizzle. Thomas watched him patiently. He loved looking at James when James was contemplating some heavy thing; the way he pursed his lips together, the way his scowl seemed almost sad, the way he raised his hand to stroke his beard.

“Perhaps,” he said at length. “Or perhaps our scars remind us that we’re simply still alive.”

James looked down into the dark amber content of his glass. Thomas let out a long sigh, thumping his head against the wall. He swung a leg up onto the seat, crooking his knee so that it matched James's.

“Quod non interficiat nos fortior nobis*,” he said.

James looked up at him with that look, the one that told Thomas he’d said the right thing at the right time and that James had thrilled to hear him speak it in Latin. James rose from the seat and sat his glass on the desk. He grabbed his under shirt and pulled it over his head, then began unlacing his breeches. Thomas stared at him, an abrupt feeling of awe and wonder flooding him before it ebbed back.

“Mmm. You,” he said, eyes roaming freely over James's naked body. He had not moved from the window seat, drink still in hand. James came to him and plucked the drink away and sat it next to his own. Then he kissed Thomas, nipping at his lips.

“I would have you inside me before everything happens tomorrow,” he said.

Thomas inhaled sharply—sharp scent of pine and salt—and sat up. He held James's gaze as he stripped off his own breeches and under shirt. He hesitated before leaving the window seat, with James still hovering over him. He had always enjoyed it when James dominated him and either made love or fucked him, but when James gave himself over to him it was total and complete and Thomas's heart sang at the thought.

He took James from behind and up against the whitewashed wall. James was on his knees, arms braced up against the wall and looking completely—gorgeously—debauched before Thomas.

Thomas moved slowly, almost languidly, taking the time to study every little nuance to James's body. Ever since he and James had found one another again he had taught himself a remarkable amount of patience with their love making. Life, once so certain to him, had become something that was always teetering on the precipice. He could not know when he and James would be together next and he wanted to make the most of it.

 

*Quod non interficiat nos fortior nobis* (That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger) I'm no Latin scholar so I hope it's mostly correct!


	2. Chapter 2

“Mmm. You,” he said, eyes roaming freely over James's naked body. He had not moved from the window seat, drink still in hand. James came to him and plucked the drink away and sat it next to his own. Then he kissed Thomas, nipping at his lips.

“I would have you inside me before everything happens tomorrow,” he said.

Thomas inhaled sharply—sharp scent of pine and salt—and sat up. He held James's gaze as he stripped off his own breeches and under shirt. He hesitated before leaving the window seat, with James still hovering over him. He had always enjoyed it when James dominated him and either made love or fucked him, but when James gave himself over to him it was total and complete and Thomas's heart sang at the thought.

He took James from behind and up against the whitewashed wall. James was on his knees, arms braced up against the wall and looking completely—gorgeously—debauched before Thomas.

Thomas moved slowly, almost languidly, taking the time to study every little nuance to James's body. Ever since he and James had found one another again he had taught himself a remarkable amount of patience with their love making. Life, once so certain to him, had become something that was always teetering on the precipice. He could not know when he and James would be together next and he wanted to make the most of it.

 

James closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool wall. He was hot against it, hot from Thomas's touches and the heat they created between them. He adored how Thomas took his time but still managed to move in ways that made him whimper, rolling his hips or pulling all the way out before thrusting back inside him until he was rooted completely inside James.

He looked over his shoulder and made a garbled sound. Thomas shifted himself so that his chest was pressed against James, bending over for a kiss. He stilled his cock in James and James took Thomas's tongue inside his mouth. Thomas kissed him with tender skill, being neither too chaste nor greedy. James marveled at him. Then he bucked up against Thomas, urging him to continue.

When at last James felt the heat inside rising, his stomach fluttering, he pushed Thomas's back up against the window and impaled himself on his cock. Thomas wrapped one hand over his collarbone and the other around his waist. They built into a new rhythm, faster and more urgent. James thrilled to hear Thomas's breaths grow shorter and shorter, until he pulled James into him and said in a strained breath, “James.”

James bucked hard against him, pulling on his cock as he did so. They climaxed at the same time. When it was done they rested on the seat. It was a moment like so many before that James wished he could hold still forever, with Thomas's warm body wrapped around his own. He let his fingers wander through his thick yellow hair, thinking about nothing in particular.

Before, without Thomas, James knew he would have spent such a night plotting and planning, taking no comfort in anything or anyone.

It disturbed him now, to think that was how it had been. Never again, he vowed.

He kissed Thomas's head and nudged him until he sat up, grumbling.

“It’s late,” James said, pulling his breeches. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow—”

“Yes, I know. I don’t need to be scolded like a child,” Thomas huffed out.

James stilled, feeling a small pang. Thomas let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean that. I’m feeling rather anxious, that’s all.”

James matched his sigh. Thomas wasn’t speaking about their return to Nassau tomorrow. He meant the night. James finished lacing his breeches and walked the short distance to one of the two hammocks that hung next to each other.

“I’m just a few feet away,” he said softly.

Thomas's expression had that forlorn look to it that he desperately tried to hide from him, mixed up with what James knew to be embarrassment. He’d been having the nightmares for close to a month now, not long after they had finished building the house on Santa Ybel. Thomas told him he dreamt of Bethlam Royal Hospital and of being chained and caged. He was always reluctant to give James details. He claimed he forgot them upon waking but James had a feeling he did not. Then he’d admitted to having equally dark dreams about their captivity aboard the Scarborough. He and Thomas had only been held prisoner by Captain Hume for a week’s time but it had been long enough to rekindle the traumas of Thomas's suffering in the asylum.

The nightmares came almost nightly, to the point where Thomas lost most of his sleep and was driven back to his old drinking habits. As James used the small wash basin and then blew out the candles he remembered vividly how angry he had been when he’d found Thomas inebriated early one morning, still awake and shaking his flask for the last few drops of liquor like a drunkard.

They discovered that only James's physical presence could ward off his demons, either by love making or by James enfolding Thomas with his arms and holding him through the night. It had broke James's heart that Thomas needed him in that way, not out of love but out of fear, like a beaten dog who had only known one true kindness.

James swallowed thickly, shaking the thoughts away. He lay down in his hammock, with Thomas hanging a few feet away and inhaled the strong scent of pine and candle wax and a dash of musk, leftover from earlier. He took some small comfort in the pleasing aroma, nestling down into the red cloth. Still, he felt helpless to help Thomas rid himself of his nightmares and more often than not they both lost sleep over it.

For his part James did not care in the least; he was used to running on fumes and sleeping for only a few hours at a time. However, his sleepless nights greatly bothered Thomas and James worried most of all that the damned thorny bush of self loathing he himself was so familiar with would start to bloom in the one man who should never, ever have such thoughts.

 

**He focused on the dirt beneath him and taking in the fresh air. He looked away from the man lying on his back in front of him, seizing and foaming at the mouth, his body trembling all over. Two officials came over to him as the woman chained to the left of Thomas screamed at them and pointed. Nor did he look at the woman across the yard from him who was being pushed between three other officials, her clothes half off as they leered and grabbed her roughly, ignoring her tears and pleas for mercy. Nor did he look at the man chained to his right, who sat thumping his head against the wooden beam hard enough to shake it. There was blood on the wood.

Instead Thomas focused on the dirt. He scooted the three feet allotted to him by the chains, which were connected to a long metal bar that had been attached to a wooden beam which in turn was actually support for the asylum building behind him.

He pulled out all the grass and ran his fingers through the fresh, clean dirt over and over; sifting it and watching it fall back to the ground. He ran his palms over it, smoothing and patting it out before digging into it again. It was the best medicine he had in here, far better than the kind that they stuck him with and forced him to eat and inhale and even drink.

He made sure to get dirt under his nails.

Then, as always, the moment came to an end. A sharp scream caused his head to snap up. The woman across the way had broken away from her captors, skirts still hoisted up, and was running. She came barreling towards him, tripping as her skirts fell around her and landing in a heap at Thomas's lap. She looked up desperately at him through a dirty and tear-stained face.

“Please sir, please help me!” she cried.

The three officials were closing in around them. Thomas looked down and saw that the woman had kicked up his space of dirt, disrupting the smooth pat-down he’d done. He sat there limply as the officials came and dragged her off him. She cried out and clawed at him, reaching towards him as though he were her only savior. Thomas looked away, looked at his dirt. He caught something on his clothes from the corner of his eyes. He looked down. There were drops of blood on his shirt. The woman’s. He swallowed hard, watching as the men dragged her back inside, clapping her in irons. He bent over and resumed his machinations with the dirt, soothing it back out again and trying to still his shaking hand.

When next he looked up, the head-thumping man beside him was gone and James was there, dressed in his lieutenant’s uniform and sporting his beard and gold earring. He was chained and dirty but he smiled at Thomas. Thomas smiled back, the dirt forgotten. He reached for James, scooting to the end of his three feet. James waved a hand at him, beckoning him to come closer. Thomas looked up as shadows covered James. Two officials loomed over him, hiking him up by the arms. Thomas told them to stop. They unchained him and began dragging him away. Thomas tried to rise to his feet but could not. He yelled, he shouted, he screamed. James twisted to look over his shoulder at him, face filled with fear. Thomas tried again to stand but could not. He yelled, he shouted, he screamed…**

James gasped into wakefulness. He sat up. Even in the total darkness he could see Thomas was jerking and turning, even shouting in his sleep. James blinked hard for a few seconds until he could see enough to get up. He crossed over to Thomas. This was always the difficult part; there was no such thing as gently waking Thomas when he was caught in a nightmare.

“Thomas,” James said in a loud whisper. He gripped both of Thomas's shoulders and shook him.

“Thomas!”

Thomas muttered something, then James heard him speak his name.

“Thomas, please!”

James shook him hard and Thomas snapped wake, gasping and jerking up.

“Shhh,” said James, removing his hands carefully and giving Thomas a moment. Thomas blinked and coughed. James could see through his light under shirt he was soaked with sweat. He watched anxiously. Thomas swallowed and sighed.

“I’ll get some water—”

“No, it’s all right,” said Thomas, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. James immediately squatted down again. Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath and released it. When he opened his eyes the sheer panic was gone from them, replaced by a haunted look.

James reached up and touched his forehead, frowning. He slid his wrist out of Thomas's grasp.

“Let me get you a wet cloth.”

Thomas nodded weakly. James fetched a cleaning cloth and soaked it in the basin that he’d left sitting on the desk. Thomas made to take it from him but James motioned for him to scoot over in the hammock. Thomas obliged him. As with any ship of the Queen Anne’s size, her cabin was large enough to comfortably hang two double-sized, extra wide and plush hammocks in, much nicer than what the rest of the crew got down below. James fitted snugly but comfortably next to Thomas. He turned on his side. Long practice with balancing in them allowed him to turn towards Thomas with ease.

He twisted and squeezed the cloth over Thomas's exposed chest and dragged it gently across, making sure to get the small dip below his throat. Then he wiped across Thomas's nape and at his hairline, where he sweated the most. Thomas reached up and stilled his movements, sapphire eyes boring into his. He said nothing but even in the darkness James sensed there were unshed tears there. Thomas let out a huff.

“I’m sorry. Please. I want you to go back to your hammock. You need rest tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“James, please. I’m fine now. If I wake again just throw this rag at me.”

His attempt at humor earned him a smile, but James had no intentions on moving from his spot.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said. He used James Flint’s voice, hard-edged and demanding. He felt Thomas sigh. He twisted carefully in the hammock until he faced James, causing the hammock to rock gently.

“You will not be leaving me,” Thomas said. “You will be a few feet away, as you said.”

“A few feet too many.”

“It’s my problem to deal with.”

“Quis vestri est mei*,” countered James smoothly.

“And what is mine is yours,” said Thomas, though his voice was sorrowful. James gently pressed a leg between Thomas's, hand coming up to caress the side of his face.

“Get some sleep,” he said. Thomas wiggled around another moment, legs squeezing against James's. He rested his hand around James's arm and let out a contented hum in the back of his throat.

James kept himself awake until he was certain Thomas was sleeping soundly, then allowed himself to drift off a few hours before dawn.

***

 

“Land ahead! Port bow! No sail!”

The lookout’s shout came as James was at the helm, steering the Queen Anne’s Revenge partially to show DeGroot’s newest and most eager pupil how it was done and partially because he secretly wanted to steer the infamous ship anyway.

All hands that were not engaged in their duties followed the lookout’s finger. A cheer went through them as the familiar shape of New Providence Island came into view.

“Mr. DeGroot,” said James. “You have the wheel.”

DeGroot nodded. “Yes sir.”

When James reached the portside railing Silver was already there, spyglass in hand. He handed it to James.

“No sail indeed, as we thought from his approach” said Silver. “But we know they’re there. Ten pieces of eight says Hume has the port blockaded.”

James squinted through the glass. He had a sharp eye, but he had to concur: There was not a single ship in view on this side of the island. He and Silver had decided it best to approach from the west side of the island, the side farthest away from Nassau and her port. To their starboard side lay the Bahamas. He lowered the glass.

“I’ll need to get our heading—”

“Already done.”

Silver reached into his coat and pulled out folded parchment and offered it to James. James raised an eyebrow.

“Thought I asked for this yesterday,” he said with raised eyebrows.

Silver remained perfectly composed. He leaned against the railing, thumbs in his belt and shrugged.

“And I told Thomas to tell you I would have a reading as soon as was possible. Yesterday was a shit day; today is not. There is your heading, as fresh and accurate as a young groom steering his vessel into port.”

James stared at him expressionless for a beat before snorting in laughter. Silver grinned broadly at him.

“Sail! Off the port bow!”

James's head snapped over the railing again. He and Silver both headed towards the front of the ship. James snapped open the spyglass. There, rounding the corner of the island, was a single ship, flying the Union Jack. It was an English man o’war, easily a rival to the Queen Anne.

“Damn.”

Silver eagerly snatched the small telescope from him.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Is that a lone warship?”

“It must be a flagship,” said James. He frowned deeply. “Fucking Hume.”

“Why alone?” asked Silver. “Where is his fleet?”

James had no answer. “Let’s keep watching her, see what she does.”

“Captain—captains,” said Mr. Scott from behind, giving them an apologetic nod. James turned back to the rest of the ship. The crew idled behind Scott, clearly waiting on orders.

“Should we raise the black?” he asked.

James found himself automatically turning to Silver, as though they were truly partners, then hating himself for it. Yet Silver seemed to echo his hesitation. He eyed James another moment and when James did not speak Silver did.

“No,” he said. “We have no way of knowing what’s going on in Nassau’s port. Right now, we are undoubtedly outnumbered. An attack on that ship may draw unwanted attention. But…”

The men waited with bated breath. Silver turned to James with the smallest of nods. James turned to Mr. DeGroot.

“Mr. DeGroot,” said James. “Have the guns at the ready. And the rest of you, ready your arms.”

It was all he needed to say. The decks quickly became a mess of men running back and forth and up and down, doing everything from cleaning their pistols and swords to saying Hail Marys and crossing themselves.

“Thank you,” said Silver, almost shyly when they were alone again.

“I told you you were still captain,” said James, a bit gruffly. He didn’t want to give Silver the impression they were anything approaching friends. He trusted the man more today than yesterday, but James realized he still harbored some bitterness after Silver’s betrayal. He turned and left without looking at the other man.

He crossed the deck and walked toward the mainmast. He looked down at the deck hand on his hands and knees, scrubbing the deck with a brush and bucket of water.

“You there, squab,” he bellowed.

Thomas looked up at him and frowned.

“Very funny.”

He rose to his feet, tossing the brush in the bucket and looking less than exuberant about his job.

“Permission to quit and engage in something less back-breaking, captain.”

James eyed him critically—or tried to anyway but whereas most men shuddered in fear when he looked them up and down Thomas merely grinned. They kept themselves firmly apart, hands at their sides, but James allowed their gazes to remain locked together, drinking in the sight of Thomas's flushed cheeks and sweaty damp shirt.

“Such as what?” asked James teasingly. He should be barking out more orders, but the men needed little more encouragement; even Billy was double checking the rigging above them without either captain having to tell him.

“James,” said Thomas sharply. His blue eyes were fixed behind James and towards the starboard side. James turned. He saw nothing aside from a bird perched on the railing, but it wasn’t a gull. It looked like a…pigeon? Thomas was already crossing over to it. The bird did not fly away as he neared but instead seemed to want his attention. James followed him. Yes, it was a pigeon—a homing pigeon.

Thomas glanced up at him. James nodded and Thomas tentatively reached out. The pigeon let itself be grabbed. There was a tiny note attached to its leg. Thomas took it off and released the bird. It settled back down on the railing a few feet away. Thomas uncurled the piece of paper, looking at it in wonder as he offered it to James.

“I have never actually seen a homing pigeon…in use before,” he said.

James read the note. It was written in less than fine script but legible:

C.Flint or C. Silver,

Let it be known that Captain Hume of the new and improved Scarborough circles the island, watching for your return. The port is flanked on either side by two of his ships, both frigates. The Ranger sits to Nassau’s starboard, unable to advance any further. The Walrus remains where she was left, now in-between Hume’s ships. Find Vane on the Ranger. I remain stuck here with these stinking redcoats. Hurry the fuck up.

\--E. Teach

James looked up and gave a long and drawn-out sigh.

“Well?” asked Thomas.

James handed him the note. “Give it to Silver. Tell him to meet me in quarters, if you please.”


	3. Chapter 3

HMS Pearl

Nassau’s port  
\-----------

Captain Geoffrey Hume crawled up from the launch and came aboard the HMS Pearl looking hot and irritated. Still, he doffed his hat to the officers who met him, back straight and hands folded.

“Where is she?”

“She’s comin’ up now, sir,” said one of the officers. He and his fellow officers turned nervously to towards the captain’s cabin. In another minute a woman appeared on deck, fanning herself with a hand fan and dressed as though she were ready to attend a ball instead of having spent weeks on a ship at sea. The woman spotted Hume and frowned, coming towards him at a snail’s pace.

Hume waited patiently. His lips became tighter and tighter the longer it took for her to approach. At last she stood before him, letting out a huff.

“What is it, Geoffrey? This heat is absolutely unbearable. Isn’t there any way to have an icehouse on board? I’m told they do it on plantations in the New World all the time.”

“Or perhaps you should have stayed in England,” retorted Hume. “There are plenty of icehouses there as well.”

The woman rolled her eyes, fanning frantically. “Really, Geoffrey. If you came off the Scarborough simply to chastise me...”

“I did not,” he cut in. He took her by the elbow and guided her away from the officers, who stooped their heads and went about their duties. When they were out of earshot he gave her an exasperated look.

“Emily, I only wish that you would have heeded my word on this; just this one thing, to not come with me on this voyage. The danger here is great. And as I said, I cannot look after you while I command my ship, this fleet.”

Emily lost her haughty and bored attitude and smile warmly at him. The fanning ceased as she put a palm against his chest.

“Dearest Geoffrey. I admit it was a poor idea on my part; I’m far too whimsical for my own good. Yet you indulged me when you should not have, and I am grateful. Despite this horrendous heat I’m rather enjoying my stay here, such as it is.”

Hume made the mistake in that moment of letting her words affect him. He smiled slightly and looked away. As soon as he did Emily let her gaze wonder to her left. There, standing against some ratlines was the Pearl’s first mate, Mr. Cunnings. He was openly watching her, handsome smile gracing an equally handsome face. She flashed him a smile of her own before abruptly fixing her gaze back on Hume, who had raised his eyes again. He drew her close, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“This is the last time,” he said quietly, intimately. “From now on you must heed my word in matters of import. If anything were to happen to you while we were here, your husband would have my head. And that is a fact, my dear.”

Emily smiled at him seductively. “Lord Sutton believes me to be visiting the Greek Islands I so love reading about. He could never have your head.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck and gave him a sweetly short kiss on the lips. Hume looked less than satisfied with her succinct summary of things but he smiled anyway, pressing a finger to her lips.

“You must either stay below or go ashore soon,” he said. “I will not have you—”

“Sail! No colors, sir! Reported from the Ludlow, sir!”

The lookout’s shout got the attention of every man above deck. Hume left Emily’s embrace and looked up at the crow’s nest. The HMS Ludlow was the ship across the port from them, helping the Pearl maintain control of Nassau’s point of entry.

“Where?” Hume shouted.

“Abeam to port of the Ludlow, sir!”

Hume and the handsome Mr. Cunnings, first mate, met at the railing and looked out with their spyglasses. The ship approaching was no merchant vessel.

“A ship-of-the-line, sir,” said Cunnings. “Possibly even a match for the Scarborough. That makes two of them now, sir, this one as well as the Spanish warship lurking south of us.”

“Perhaps,” said Hume, still eyeing the ship. The longer he watched it the more certain he was of exactly what ship it was and who was its captain. His jaw tightened.

“Damnation,” he muttered.

“Sir?” asked Cunnings.

“Take a good look, Mr. Cunnings. That is no ordinary ship-of-the-line. That is none other than the old Concorde.”

Mr. Cunnings blinked at him. He raised his spyglass again, squinting hard.

“HMS Concorde, sir? The same that was taken by the pirate Blackbeard?”

Hume nodded gravely. “The same.”

Cunnings blinked again, mind racing.

“But Teach is in Nassau, talking with First Lieutenant Wilkes. Who, then—”

“An old adversary, if I’m not mistaken,” Hume sneered, eyes narrowing at the ship off in the distance. “And one to equal Teach in depravity and cunning. Let’s continue on our patrol, and keep an eye out on her.”

Hume moved away from the railing but Cunnings halted him.

“But sir, if it as you say, what if they attack?”

Hume turned back to his younger first mate.

“They will not attack now, Mr. Cunnings. He is too clever for that. No, in order to defeat this one, we must find other means of breaking him.”

***

Silver let the note curl back up as he sat it on the desk. He and James sat beside one another in the captain’s quarters.

“He’s given us everything we need to know—ship locations and directions—except for the whereabouts of the man o’war,” said Silver after a beat.

James nodded. “Which means either he doesn’t know where she’s at or…”

“Or he didn’t want to give her position away should the note be intercepted,” Silver smoothly finished for him.

They both startled when the doors swung open and Jack Rackham strode in.

“Which also might mean that the man o’war is in a position of great importance,” he said.

James jumped to his feet and sneered. He was in Rackham’s face in a matter of seconds.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Jack took half a step back but his dark eyes didn’t leave James's.

“Joining what sounds like a discussion of strategy that I was sadly not invited to partake in.”

“Because you’re a fucking traitor to your own cause,” snapped James.

Jack forced out a wide smile. “That was before. This is now. I thought we’d agreed to move past all that—”

“We’re not moving past anything,” said James.

Jack pointed to Silver, who was standing with his arms tightly crossed, watching them.

“Might we hear what Mr. Silver has to say about it? He was, after all, my old accomplice in all this, yet you deem him worthy to stand your equal now. I should think his words carry weight.”

James sneered again at the sarcasm laced in Rackham’s tone; it had always annoyed him to no end, but he knew when to lay it on heavy because he knew when he had a point.

James forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath and trying to force the images of throttling Jack out of his head. Silver leaned over the back of chair, knuckles going white. James recognized the anxiety that danced around his face. He licked his lips.

“Jack is a captain now,” Silver began, throwing an almost contrite look to James as though James would throttle him instead, “And as such he does deserve to least be privy to any discussions we have, even though we might not grant him any more power, given his past actions.”

James scowled down at the floor, stroking his beard. He raised an eye to Rackham.

“Agreed,” he said. “I cannot spend any more time concerning myself where your loyalties are concerned, and neither can you,” he added. Jack looked at him and nodded slowly, understanding. They were preparing in all likelihood to engage the British, and that was the larger picture.

James walked around to sit behind the desk, offering Jack the chair beside Silver’s with a sweep of his hand. Jack took it, adjusting his hat and scarf and shooting his cuffs.

“Now then, where were we?” he asked.

James picked up the tiny note and handed it to him.

 

It was agreed that they would continue on their current course, making a wide turn around New Providence’s southern side so as to avoid alerting the circling Scarborough that they had no hostile intentions. They would reconnoiter the rest of the island and then—hopefully—find the Ranger on her east side. Their course would make it appear as though the Queen Anne was going to continue sailing south out of fear. Jack had suggested the idea, though he admitted his plotting skills were poor so James had plotted out their heading. After all was said and done Jack took his leave but Silver remained.

“There’s a more personal matter I wanted to discuss,” he said when they were alone.

“Oh?”

“Earlier the some of the men noticed you and Mr. Hamilton together under the mainmast.”

“I was simply seeing how he was coming along in his duties,” James said, becoming defensive before he was able to stop himself.

“Yes,” Silver continued slowly. “But the more the men see the two of you together, the more curious they are becoming. I’ve spent no small amount of time dissuading them from their gossip, most of which is inane and harmless, I know, but…”

He trailed off on purpose, deep blue eyes fixing James with a look that said silently, ‘But this could quickly become a problem’ and ‘I don’t need to remind you that sodomy is still considered a sin, even out here.’

James curled his fingers against his lips, staring down at the compass on the desk.

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” he said. “Let them talk and whisper. What more can they do?”

Silver stood and leaned in toward him, fingertips pressed over the desk.

“If even one of them figures you and he out, you risk losing this crew…”

James was waving away his concern before he’d finished speaking it.

“Stop. They won’t find out. How could they? And if they did…huh.”

James gave him a rueful smile. “I’ve already faced judgment by England Herself. If any of these men truly give a shit about our cause—and I think they do at this point—they’ll see reason over caring whether or not one of their captains….”

James stopped, surprised that he was still unable to give voice to what he was in front of Silver. The old and familiar vile thing in his chest clawed at him in victory.

“If you cannot even say it to me, how you will fair when forced to say it in front of them?”

Silver’s voice was soft and filled with…concern? James sighed.

“Is there anything else?” he asked flatly.

Silver let his fingers drop from the desk, sliding a mask of indifference over his face.

“No. That is all. I’ll tell DeGroot our heading.”

James nodded absently, staring down at the compass as Silver left.

***

 

When he was certain no one was looking Thomas pulled off a piece of his hardtack and tossed it on the floor of the quarterdeck, where the pigeon had perched itself in some ratlines. It flew down, making a cooing noise, and plucked up the biscuit, bobbing its head. It was waiting for someone to take it and re-attach a note, Thomas knew. It understood what its role was without actually understanding anything. It was too dangerous, however, for them to risk sending a message back to Teach. With the British all over Nassau there stood a good chance that note or bird or both would find their way into their clutches.

So it waited. It looked expectantly at Thomas and Thomas threw it another piece, then finished his hardtack. He picked up the bucket of now dirty water he’d been scrubbing with earlier and dumped it over the aft railing at the very back of the ship, where the winds swept it away.

“You usin’ that?”

Thomas turned around to find Anne Bonny behind him, nodding at the empty bucket.

“No. Not anymore.”

He offered it to her. She took it and flipped it over, sitting on it and pulled out her sword and a whetstone. She ran the stone slowly along the edge of blade. Thomas stood and watched her, then squatted down next to her. Anne looked up at him, green eyes guarded.

“Will you show me?” he asked.

“You ain’t never sharpened a blade before?” she asked, surprise lilting her voice.

Thomas shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. I’m a land lubber at heart.”

He gave her a wry grin but Anne just frowned.

“You’re mates with Captain Flint, ain’t you?” she asked.

“That I am, but Ja—Captain Flint never has the time to show me.”

Still frowning, Anne took off her hat and turned slightly towards him as she ran the stone over her sword.

“You got to start at the hilt and run it all the way up, nice and even,” she said. “You do it the same number of times on each side.”

“How does one know when it is fully sharpened?”

Now Anne did offer him a small smile, raising a thumb to the blade and applying pressure. It took a moment before a drop of blood appeared. Thomas's eyebrows jerked up.

“Oh.”

“Not sharp enough,” she said. “You’ll barely feel anything when it’s good an’ sharp.”

Thomas reached into a pocket and pulled out an apple.

“Will this work just as well?”

Anne looked at the apple and back up at him. He saw the hard edge fade from her eyes just slightly.

“Suppose so.”

She continued her sharpening and Thomas watched. Then she handed him the stone and sword.

“Give it a go.”

Thomas lifted the stone and mimicked her as well as he could. She said nothing but nodded. He looked down at the apple on the floor.

“May I?”

Anne shrugged. He took that to mean a either a ‘yes’ or that she didn’t care one way or the other. Thomas raised the sword and Anne scooted back on the bucket. He brought it down over the apple, slicing it not quite in a perfect half. He’d applied too much pressure however and the blade was stuck into the wood of the ship.

“Oh my,” he said, giving it a jerk to pull it free.

Anne was watching him through locks of her chestnut hair. Thomas swore she was grinning. She nodded at the stone.

“You’ve dulled it a bit. Got to re-sharpen it.”

Grinning back at her Thomas took up the stone and did as he was told. After a moment it struck him as odd that Anne did not seem the least bit interested about him, which was an interesting shift from the behavior and questions he received from some of James's crew.

“Aren’t you curious as to who I am?” he asked after careful consideration.

Anne shrugged, eyes on the whetstone.

“Don’ much matter to me,” she said. “You’re high born, not from around here. Seems strange, but…”

She shrugged again, glancing up at him.

“I’ve spent a long time figuring out myself, so guess I don’ begrudge someone else their secrets anymore.”

Anne stood before he could reply, gazing out towards New Providence. Thomas figured it was best to not to respond so he did not. After a long moment she sat back down again. He handed her her sword. Anne inspected it, holding it up to the sun and flipping it over. She nodded her approval. He smiled and handed her back the stone.

“Thank you for the lesson,” he said.

Anne tried to hide a smile, edges of her mouth pressing down.

“Welcome,” she muttered.

Thomas took his leave, finding himself in high spirits. There was something about Anne Bonny that caused Thomas to immediately like her. He knew he should not; she had, after all, been an accomplice in taking the Urca gold and therefore had contributed to James's stress over it, but more and more Thomas was seeing that things here were anything but black and white. Anne did not seem the greedy type, at least not over money. He’d been told that she loved Jack Rackham, and that was enough for him to forgive her. Love, he knew, was complicated enough without the addition of money.

***

 

“There she is,” said James, lowering his spyglass. Silver and Billy Bones stood beside him, staring out at the familiar brigantine ship that was anchored roughly half a mile from New Providence on the west and several miles from the dim outline of Eleuthera to the east. Precisely where Teach’s letter said it would be.

“Why is she sitting there?” asked Billy. “She looks vulnerable.”

“I told you,” said Silver. “She’s been damaged from the fight with Hornigold. And, if I’m not mistaken, once we get closer we’ll be able to see the ships guarding the port. Vane’s keeping their attention on the Ranger instead of the Walrus.”

“Ah,” said James, who was looking through the spyglass again but in a different direction. As they shifted direction to come in a more direct path to Ranger, they rounded the small cluster of islands that formed a sharp J-hook. On the other side was a sight for sore eyes, as far as James was concerned.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Billy.

It was the Marcus Aurelius, also anchored and much closer to Nassau than the Ranger. She’d been damaged, and Silver had little choice but to leave her for the Queen Anne to go retrieve James, leaving her manned sparsely.

“Billy,” said James. “You and the lookout to keep a close eye on both ships as we near the Ranger. Report anything to me—to us—at once,” he said, giving Silver a sidelong look in apology.

With a nod Billy went to do as we was bade, swinging onto the ratlines with the ease of a monkey and heading towards the mainmast to make the climb to the crow’s nest.

James glanced up to the quarterdeck, where Thomas stood looking out at the island. With a start it occurred to James that Thomas was finally seeing the piece of land that had caused him so much pride and strife all those years ago. Dimly James remembered words he’d spoken to Miranda in the study room, about how much potential New Providence had and that Thomas should be its governor. James looked out at the island. He still saw that potential, but more than anything it was his piece of land to do with as he saw fit, not fucking England’s.

Unwanted memories made the bile rise in the back of his throat, stinging like a re-opened wound. He looked again at Thomas to push the thoughts away.

***

 

He walked the plank that stretched out between the two ships. Vane stood on the main deck, smoking one of his cheroots. He didn’t carry himself with his usual swagger but instead stood stiffly, scowl over his face and jaws tight. He nodded as James approached. Around them their crew mingled together; many of them that had been split off when the two captains had separated now reunited, chattering excitedly and taking a moment to relieve stress.

When the two captains met, the crowd around them quickly dispersed and gave them the floor.

“I take it you’ve had difficulty,” said James, noting his tense stance.

Vane’s scowl seemed to deepen, but before he could respond James peered behind him as Eleanor Guthrie made her way to them.

“Ms. Guthrie, it’s good to see you again,” he said with genuine pleasure. Eleanor nodded curtly at him, looking as anxious as Charles.

“Hello captain,” she said.

“Eleanor has decided to she wants to be an Englishwoman again,” Vane said with a sneer. Eleanor shot him an icy look, one that even sent chills down James's back. He looked from one to the other, confused.

“Clearly I’m missing something.”

Vane, arms crossed, nudged her hard.

“Go on then. You hate it when I speak for you.”

He turned away from them both and took a drag off the cheroot. Eleanor glared at him for another moment before turning to James. Eleanor had never shown any fear of him, had always treated him with respect and today was no different—save for the cold look that remained in her eyes as she spoke, as though they had not shared the last decade fighting for Nassau together.

“As I was telling Mr. Underhill before I was captured, I intend to end piracy on this island,” she said. “And if that means working directly with Captain Hume or even the High Sea Lords to do it, then so be it. I’m through killing myself for the sake of men who would rather fuck me or kill me as much as they would accept me as a trade boss, especially after what fucking Benjamin did.”

“Hornigold was the one who captured her,” Vane cut in, turning around. He tossed the cheroot overboard without looking at it, gaze fixed intently on Eleanor. James looked discreetly from one to the other. It was as though he had ceased to exist in their world. He winced. This was bad.

“Eleanor,” he began slowly. She snapped her head to him. “Hornigold is a traitorous bastard, no one will argue otherwise, and I know that ending piracy here was our original intent, but—”

“But what?” she snapped, stepping towards him. He could all but taste the anger coming off her in waves. Then it faded when she spoke, replaced by…sorrow?

“You and I were supposed to re-build this place,” she said, voice dropping. “No one else, not even Charles, agreed with us, but we were so close, so close.”

Her eyes closed and James watched her swallow hard. Carefully, as though getting ready to touch sharp glass, he put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked slightly but did not remove it. He waited for her to open her eyes before speaking.

“We were close,” he said. He had to fight to keep emotion out of his voice. Damn. “We were close and perhaps you even blame me for what went wrong, what I did to…to Charlestown…”

Her icy eyes looked up at his, brimming with tears and contempt that made him remove his hand, breath catching. Of course this felt like a betrayal to her, he realized.

“You had your reasons,” she replied. Her gaze fell. “My condolences for what happened to Ms. Barlow. She and I never saw eye to eye on certain matters, but I know you loved her, and she certainly loved you.”

James blinked, jaw tightening. He looked over her shoulder.

“But,” Eleanor continued firmly. “What both of you did has ruined any chance we might have had of re-building this place and making it legitimate.”

Vane sucked in a breath. “You won’t hear it from me. Maybe you’ll hear it from him, since you take his word as the fucking gospel.”

Vane nodded contemptuously at James. He tried to ignore Vane’s barb, aimed as much at him as it was at her. Now he could see it—in a way they had left Eleanor behind and not just physically. He and Charles had changed the game, and she didn’t like it.

“Charlestown was inevitable,” said James. “It may not have been that town on that day, but it would have been some town somewhere, destroyed by someone like me. England could not ignore us forever. Please, Eleanor, you must see this.”

“Why goddamnit, why do you hate England so?” she nearly shouted at him, voice laced with frustration more than anything. The question sounded brutal to his ears and he winced. A part of him knew she deserved to know the full answer to that question, and how nice it would be at last to tell someone, just one other fucking soul the whole truth…

James swallowed thickly. Even Charles was looking at him now and wondering if he’d answer the question.

Just a small portion of the truth as always; he’d made a living out of leaving breadcrumbs of truth to those around him. A few more wouldn’t make a difference.

“I was a naval officer before, on my way up. I was kicked out and banished from the country. How’s that for an excuse?”

He’d said it devoid of emotion, short and sweet and Eleanor was looking at him with something bordering on empathy under her cold gaze. In all the years they had known one another it had never much mattered to either of them the why’s of one another’s reasoning. Now his words caused her brows to lift, soothing the lines away from her forehead and revealing the pretty young women underneath. James didn’t dare look at Vane’s reaction.

“And now we’re all monsters in England’s eyes,” she said. “Perhaps that’s all we ever were.”

Eleanor made to leave them but Vane grabbed her arm. She jerked away from him as though she’d been bitten, and James felt the heavy tension between them once more.

“Tell him about her,” Vane said. James raised an eyebrow. Eleanor let out a long-suffering sigh.

“The ship in the port?” she said, pointing abeam off Ranger’s portside. There across the water James could just make out a ship anchored there. Several other men were watching and chattering about it around them.

“That is the HMS Pearl,” she continued. “I know because it’s the same ship I was taken prisoner on. And while I was prisoner I overheard many conversations between sailors. Most of it was inane chatter or gossip, but one evening a group of officers were drinking and their voices rose to where I could plainly make them out from where I sat, chained in the hold. They spoke at length of a noblewoman by the name of Sutton, Emily Sutton. Apparently the wife of a prominent sea lord, Mrs. Sutton was the talk of the town due to her wantonness when it came to men. She was very clever at it and either her husband ever knew or didn’t care. He did, however, share with her his maneuverings in Whitehall, allowing her access to political information and thinking her harmless with it.”

James thought of London and Miranda and his breath hitched at the similarities. He waited for Eleanor to continue.

“As the conversation continued I learned that it was widely rumored that her most recent…attachment was none other than Captain Hume. The conversation quieted after that and I had to strain to hear, but the gist of the rest of it was about how he was weak-willed when it came to her and that he would do anything she asked, I believe. They also said that he shared everything with her, including details of ship’s business and battle strategies. I heard no more after that; I assume they retired to their bunks. However…”

Eleanor looked out at the Pearl, frowning. When she didn’t continue Vane spoke instead.

“I’ve seen a woman on that ship,” he said. He nodded at Eleanor. “She’s convinced it’s Mrs. Sutton.”

James stroked his beard, thinking intently. He looked at Charles.

“And you?”

Vane’s scowl lessened somewhat.

“No reason for a woman, let alone a noblewoman, to be on board a naval ship at war. Not unless the story is true, in which case it would make sense. Hume’s fucking mad.”

James stared out at the small blackish figure of the Pearl. He startled when Eleanor spoke again, voice harsh.

“Unless you need to pump me for more information I’m going back to the cabin.”

Her eyes burned into Charles’s.

“Do hurry up and decide what the fuck you’re going to do with me.”

She turned on her heel and left them. Vane watched her go. James sighed as the heavy tension went with her. He felt sadness in its wake with the realization he’d lost a friend and an ally.

He tried not to think about how it must be for Vane. He remembered the words he’d had Silver deliver to Charles while he and Thomas were escaping from Hume: Tell Vane, if you see him, that we have an understanding and I hope he finds her. Now go.

James let him gaze after her another minute, then cleared his throat.

“We could that information,” he said.

Vane twisted away from Eleanor’s disappearing form. He grunted.

“The Sutton woman? A tantalizing piece of ass, so close, yet so far away. No way in hell to get to her though.”

James sighed irritably, ignoring Charles’s crude tongue. There had to be a way. If Emily Sutton was privy to the political goings-on from Parliament as well as Hume’s naval strategies, she could prove an invaluable asset.

“Two sails! Off the starboard bow! Royal Navy!”

The cry caused both of them to whirl around. The lookout pointed, and as one they both scrambled across the planks of the main deck and to the railing, running towards the front of the starboard side. James snapped his spyglass open along with Charles.

“Fuck,” grunted Vane. James silently shared his curse. Two large English vessels had rounded northernmost corner of Eleuthera. They were ships-of-the-line. James squinted hard to make out the number of gun ports on the one closest to them.

“32 guns, at least,” he said. “Heading towards the port.”

“Hume knows you’re here,” Charles said gravely. “They’re watching us. Raise the black!” he bellowed out behind them. He looked to James imploringly, silently asking for support. James thought quickly, looking out towards Nassau’s port. The plan to avoid Hume’s gaze had failed. Now, however, he recognized a larger problem.

“If those ships join together with the ones in the port, we’re fucked.”

“Well then,” said Charles, slow grin gracing his face. James knew its meaning and he returned it.

“Well then,” he replied.

And James left the Ranger for the Queen Anne, yelling out the order to raise the black.

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no update last week. I'm teaching again and grading papers. ;p

***

Thomas watched as James crossed back over to the Queen Anne, bellowing out orders as the crew scrambled to heed them. Not for the first time since their reunion Thomas again found himself imagining James back in his navy blue, bellowing out orders as a lieutenant. He looked at James Flint and saw James McGraw, with his clean-shaven face, gorgeous hair pulled back in its ribbon, and a pair of jade eyes that would fixate on him, speaking volumes when rules of propriety had limited his voice…

Thomas shook himself out of the daydream before the inevitable bitterness could rise up in him. This was neither the time nor the place.

The entire ship hummed and cackled with energy and he didn’t want to get in the way. He descended the stairs of the quarterdeck as James crossed the platform to the starboard side, pointing here and there and speaking with first Mr. Scott then Mr. DeGroot. Thomas waited anxiously until at last James turned and spotted him, crossing to him.

“Two English warships, heading towards the port,” he said. “If we don’t stop them, they’ll join the two already there and we’ll be outnumbered. It’s going to be dangerous.”

Thomas understood his meaning and that James wanted him to retreat to the cabin but Thomas fixed him with a firm gaze.

“I understand. Until that is imminent, however, I’d like to remain on deck, captain.”

James opened his mouth to protest but Thomas cut him off, motioning over his shoulder to where Anne Bonny was talking with Jack.

“Besides, if a woman is allowed on deck…”

James frowned at him. “That woman could snap your neck like a twig.”

“I have no doubt. However Ms. Bonny did give me a lesson in sharpening a blade. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be armed.”

Thomas had always stood the taller of them, and now he did his best to positively loom over James. He wanted this, wanted to be connected in some way to what was happening. James was overly protective so Thomas knew to make him understand he’d have to be unyielding in his request. James's eyes looked up into his. He reluctantly nodded.

“Very well. Go to the sea chest in the cabin. I’ve got an extra few cutlasses in it.”

Thomas nodded and did so, choosing a blade and then carefully touching his thumb to the blade. He winced and then grinned when he barely felt the cut.

***

 

The English changed course once they saw they were being followed by two pirate ships. As predicted they turned to engage the Queen Anne’s Revenge and the Ranger, having no time to turn around completely to withdraw. Their men scrambled madly on deck as their gun ports began to open.

Thomas followed all of this easily, as he had a clear view from the ship’s forecastle, at least until they drew nearer the two ships and James ordered him back to the quarterdeck. In truth Thomas didn’t mind; the English ships were every bit as big as the Queen Anne and larger than Vane’s brig. Dimly he remembered a well-known naval tactic that was quite frightening to imagine: The practice of two ships coming up broadside to wedge their enemy hopelessly in-between. Then they would fire upon the unfortunate ship as one, obliterating it. What would the outcome be with two ships trapped in-between? He prayed he would not know the answer.

“Could get messy,” said a feminine voice from beside him. Anne had joined him once more. Together they watched as the two ships loomed ever closer. Below them Silver yelled out an order to reduce sail. A minute later Thomas felt the ship slow beneath him.

“It could,” he agreed. “What will happen if they are defeated?”

Anne shrugged. “Probably won’t bother to board them. Knowin’ Flint, he’ll want to burn them.”

Thomas turned to her, startled.

“Killing everyone on board?”

“Only if they ain’t abandoned ship before then.”

She bit into something; Thomas saw it was half an apple, the same red one he’d sliced earlier. She tossed it to him.

“Better eat while you can.”

It took him a long time after she left to realize she had just told a joke.

 

When the cannon fire started Thomas gripped the railing with white knuckles. The Queen Anne fired chain shots at the English ships, who returned fire. One shot crashed through the port bow, some fifty yards away from him. He watched as pieces of ship went flying up into the clear blue sky. James yelled out something to the gunners, his voice like a thunderstorm. Thomas shivered, then jumped when a hand clamped around his upper arm. It was Billy Bones.

“Flint says you’re to go to the cabin right away,” he said, looking like the wild savage Thomas remembered him as when they had first met, face covered in red and black war paint. As he stared into Billy’s wild eyes something happened. Time seemed to crystallize around him. The sounds became muted. His eyes moved to watch the lighter pieces of splintered wood from the chain shots drift down over the decks. His heart was racing but he felt calm.

“Mr. Hamilton, please,” Billy was saying to him.

Thomas gently pulled himself free of his grasp.

“Thank you, Billy, but I’ll remain here for the time being,” he heard himself say. More cannon fire. Billy’s head snapped down to the main deck, then back at Thomas, frowning deeply.

“Go,” Thomas said.

Billy gave him a confused look under the war paint, then scrambled back to where he was needed. Thomas walked to the aft railing, the farthest point from action he could get, then sat down on the water bucket Anne had left, bracing his back against the railing and watched.

He closed his eyes, trying to identify all the sounds. Crew members shouted periodically, and he could easily distinguish Mr. Silver’s and James's voices. Mostly though was the sound of cannon fire and wood being obliterated, which frightened him the most.

Then he began to hear the men from the English ships. He opened his eyes. The British were close enough now to see them scrambling over their own ships, yelling out orders. His breath caught in his throat when he thought one of them was going to pull right up next to the Queen Anne, but the Ranger had opened her broadside on her. Although Vane was not even halfway lined up for a proper broadside he did moderate damage to the enemy vessel. Her mizzenmast had already taken a bad hit, and if Thomas had to guess he would say she was nearly compromised. James gave another order and Thomas looked up at the sound of men hoisting a flag. It was a solid red one, coming to rest right below the black. Immediately following it was a red flag from the Ranger. Both English vessels surrendered.

***

 

He was twirling the tip of the cutlass around on the floor when James burst into the cabin. Thomas froze at the sight of him, covered in blood and sweat. He dropped the cutlass and abruptly came to him. James was breathing hard but didn’t appear to be in any real pain.

“It’s not mine,” he said as Thomas's eyes fell to all the blood. Thomas pinched something on James's forearm and plucked out a sharp piece of splinter. James shrugged.

“Most of it is not mine,” he corrected himself. He brushed past Thomas and made for the water pitcher, soaking a rag and wiping at his face.

“They’ve surrendered?” asked Thomas.

“They have.”

“And did you give the order to burn the ships?”

James looked up and blinked at him.

“I did.”

“And the crew?”

James did not respond right away.

“Most of them will live,” he said slowly, understanding now that Thomas was checking him, keeping him from tipping over the dark edge the two of them had so struggled to maintain.

Thomas nodded. His blue eyes met James's. Try as he might to be firm and resolute he could not hide his concern.

“I was worried about you,” he said softly. James nodded, grunting and scrubbing at his arms, then washing his hands before discarding the rag. He stood there and took several deep breaths, gazing out the gun port before turning to Thomas.

“Come here,” he said softly.

Thomas gratefully obeyed and allowed his face to be pulled into James's for a kiss. James tasted of sweat and blood and soap. Thomas pushed his tongue into his mouth with a slow skill, hands coming up to caress his face. James sighed into his mouth before pulling back.

“I’ve got to get back out there,” he said. “We’ll talk later tonight.”

***

The next few hours were tense. Thomas learned that the Queen Anne, while visibly suffering only minor damage from the attack, had a nasty hole blown through her hull under the forecastle and was taking on water. The hole was at the waterline and the leak was slow but needed to be repaired before they could go anywhere. Furthermore, the Ranger’s stern had been re-damaged after Vane had suffered the attack from Captain Hornigold some months ago. Thomas also heard all four captains—including Rackham—discussing a shared fear of more ships from the fleet that waited on the other side of Eleuthera being dispersed once their brothers had not returned. If they were not repaired by that time they would be dangerously vulnerable.

By the time he and James had returned to the cabin James was in a foul mood. He poured a shot of rum and downed it, collapsing into his chair.

“What about getting onto the island itself?” asked Thomas, taking up a chair. “Then we would have knowledge of the size of the British population, perhaps even a way to reach Captain Teach…”

James was already shaking his head.

“It would be fucking difficult to reach the island with the Scarborough circling, and even if we did, we’d have to make it back as well.”

“And you don’t want to leave the Queen Anne,” chimed in Thomas.

James looked up at him and nodded. “And I don’t want to leave this ship.”

“Is that because you’re worried something will happen while you’re gone, or because you don’t fully trust Silver as lone captain?”

James gave a long-suffering sigh, staring out towards the portside wall.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” he admitted after a long beat.

Thomas sat back in the chair, hands loosely over his knees.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. He waited until James turned his way.

“Indeed?”

Thomas sucked in a breath. “I did not take shelter in here as Billy told me to. I remained on the quarterdeck during the engagement with the British.”

Thomas saw the quick flash of anger shoot through the green-gray eyes, the worry knot forming between James's brows. He sat up straight.

“Why?”

Thomas looked down at the desk. James's expression both moved him and irritated him.

“Because I curious. Because I wanted to know what it was like in general, and perhaps because I wanted to know what it was like for you in particular.”

He expected a quick retort, even a mini lecture from James, but instead there was silence. James was still angry, he could tell, but he seemed to be carefully digesting Thomas's words.

“It was stupid, I know,” said Thomas. “I will not do it again, but…”

“But you wanted to know…what exactly?” asked James, his face now a carefully placed mask that always irritated Thomas to no end.

“I wanted to know what life was like for you; the harsher realities I know you’ve dealt with all this time, the brutality of it. When I…”

Thomas stopped, not entirely sure he was ready to give up this part of his confession to James. After all, they were still trying to talk about the past as a fond memory and not some open wound that they threw salt in.

“Thomas?”

Too late to hold back now. Thomas frowned. He leaned forward in the chair, eyes downcast.

“When I was watching you earlier today, shouting out orders and walking back from the Ranger, it was so easy to imagine you as a naval lieutenant, not the liaison I was always with, but to see you as you were meant to be, taking command on a ship and taking pride in that. I think that is what brought on the need to watch the battle. I wanted to see you…how I had always pictured you on a ship.”

He stopped and swallowed, dragging his eyes up. James had left his chair and was staring out the window, his back to Thomas.

Thomas rose but stayed where he was until James turned towards him. He sat on the window seat, legs stretched out and crossed.

“And what did you think?” he asked.

Thomas pressed his lips together. “I think…that I saw much of Lieutenant McGraw out there today.”

He gave James a smile, hoping against hope it would be returned. It was. Then the smile dimmed.

“I’m afraid neither the lieutenant in me nor the captain has a solution for our current predicament.”

Thomas poured himself a shot and took it, thinking hard about their situation for the first time.

One immediate goal was to get John Silver to the Marcus Aurelius, which sat in the bay with little more than the skeleton crew Silver had left on board. They had orders to defend the ship and fire a warning shot at the HMS Pearl if she attempted to do anything aside from sit in front of the port. Otherwise the warship was basically useless, especially without a proper captain. Once the British realized that, however, the Aurelius would quickly be overtaken.

Thomas knew they needed the Spanish warship, plus the Queen Anne, the Ranger, and perhaps even the Walrus all working together to mount an attack. The problem, Thomas knew, was procuring the aforementioned Aurelius and Walrus without being spotted…

His thoughts were broken when there came an urgent knock on the doors.

“Yes?” said James.

The doors swung open and Mr. Scott and Mr. Silver were there, looking anxious.

“Two more British warships, sir,” said Scott. “Coming from Eleuthera.”

“Damn.”

Thomas watched as James swiped up his baldric and headed for the door. He followed hot on his heels. The two of them stopped and stood across from where Vane and Rackham were already waiting from their respective ships. All eyes were on the two ships-of-the-line as they rounded the island. This time, however, Thomas noted they seemed to be coming to a gradual stop about a mile away. They sat with their bowsprits pointed directly towards them, Union Jack flags flapping boldly in the air.

 

“Why stop short?” asked Jack, perplexed. “Reinforcements, perhaps?”

“Or they’re trying to get us to engage first,” said James.

“Lead us into a fight, then surprise us with reinforcements,” chimed in Vane. James gave a reluctant nod. He walked away from them as he and Rackham fell into discussion, hand wrapping around the thick rope that came down from the foremast. He leaned out and gazed at the enemy.

He could see the Brit’s devious plan in his mind’s eye—they would keep sending wave after wave, ship after ship, especially once they realized both pirate ships were damaged. They would be relentless in their pursuit to claim what they thought was theirs. Never again, thought James.

He’d re-claimed Thomas from them, and he would re-claim New Providence as well.

There had to be a way to re-fit their ships and get a proper captain to the Marcus Aurelius. There were options, of course, but—like Thomas's suggestion of earlier—they all ended in loss of men and bloodshed before their campaign had even begun. He wanted to avoid that.

Neither Vane nor Rackham nor even crafty Silver had any better ideas so they decided to wait. Silver suggested they keep the black flags raised to let the British know they still meant business, even if they weren’t moving. The British, in turn, also stayed put, creating a stand-off.

To their portside Billy reported that the Scarborough continued its relentless circling of the island.

James felt as though the entire world had stopped turning and was waiting with baited breath. He was almost surprised when he exhaled and nothing moved.

 

Day turned to night, with no movement other than the Scarborough. Thomas found himself marveling at Captain Hume’s stamina—or stubbornness. Though he knew not about naval strategy, surely, he figured, Hume must be trying to out-wait them, thinking that the pirates would have to make a move against him eventually.

He wondered if this was the kind of stress James had dealt with on a regular basis all these years and shuddered. He hoped not, but deep down he thought it so. He was beginning to understand even more of why James had changed the way he had and his heart ached over it.

That night, while the musicians played above deck to help alleviate the crew’s stress and the crew drank what was left of the rum Thomas wondered into the cabin to find his significant other. He was there, pouring over the haphazardly placed collection of maps on his desk. His eyes were bloodshot in the candlelight when he looked up at Thomas. His body seemed to sag with relief when he saw Thomas.

“You’ve been in here for hours,” said Thomas. “At least eat some supper.”

And he held out the plate in his arms, procured from the galley.

“I’d not even thought about it,” James mumbled, accepting the plate. Even as he ate he was looking at the maps. Thomas figured he could use a distraction.

“So what did Ms. Guthrie have to say?” he asked. “I did not get a chance to meet her.”

The smile James gave him after taking a drink appeared bitter.

“Nor will you. She’s pissed at both Vane and myself for continuing to fight England. She still wants Nassau to be a legitimate colony, owned by them.”

“Well then,” was all he could think to say.

“She did talk in detail about some woman she thinks is aboard the Pearl, a Mrs. Sutton or something-ruther, and how she might have information on everything the navy might be planning for here, but…what is it?”

Thomas's mind was spinning. Sutton. The name could have been just a coincidence, but then James said information on everything the navy might be planning. His mind reeled.

“Did Ms. Guthrie say who Mrs. Sutton’s husband was?” he asked urgently.

“Yes,” said James. “A prominent Sea Lord. Why?”

“Sutton, James,” said Thomas, rising from his chair. Whatever look he had on his face affected James, who stopped eating and also rose.

“Do you remember the names of the lords we were going to present the Nassau proposal to?” Thomas asked. He watched the subtle shock play over James's face.

“Lord Sutton,” he said at last. “The very same?”

Thomas nodded. “The very same. Mrs. Sutton is his wife, and I have heard the same as Ms. Guthrie, that she was known for her dalliances outside her marriage, and that her husband foolishly confides in her the news from Parliament.

“Christ,” said James. “Eleanor also said that Captain Hume is her lover and talks to her about naval strategies.”

“Well there you have it,” said Thomas, spreading his arms as though all problems were solved. “Get to Mrs. Sutton and coerce her to tell you exactly what Hume and, by extension, her husband have planned. Then shouldn’t you easily be able to out-maneuver the British?”

“Listen to what you’re suggesting,” said James, holding out a hand to calm him down. “How would we even get to her? Let alone get her to talk?”

Thomas's newfound joy faltered. “I do not know,” he said softly. “But surely there must be a way.”

James sighed and looked out the window again, arms tightly crossed.

“I wish I knew,” he said.

***

 

He woke up shivering. It was winter and they had yet to give him a mattress. He pulled the blanket close to him, chained ankles itching him to no end. His whole body jerked when a loud clanging echoed from the bars of his cell. It was one of the officials, the one named Gibbs who liked to harass him. He was dragging his club along the bars. Thomas turned on the cold ground and put his hands over his ears. The sound kept on, followed by rough laughter. He pressed on the sides of his head, imagining his hands squeezing hard enough to pop his head like a grape. Wouldn’t that be a relief?

There was no dirt here, nothing soft to sift his fingers through and smooth out, so he pressed his hands as tightly as he could to his ears, until the clanging was a dim, muffled sound…

He watched from across the expansive drawing room as the last of his guests left the salon, leaving the three of them alone at last. He smiled when James bent in and stole a kiss from Miranda, who returned the gesture. Then she motioned for Thomas to join them. James was watching him cross the room, sea green eyes beaming as Miranda planted another kiss on his cheek…

He snapped awake to find James shaking him again, face full of the veiled fear Thomas saw always possessed him upon waking him up. Yet instead of his usual anxiety Thomas's mind working in overdrive; it was blossoming with an idea—a beautiful, dangerous, and downright vile idea that just might work to get them the knowledge from Mrs. Sutton they needed.


	5. Chapter 5

***

 

James shook his head, not sure if he was hearing right. He sat on the edge of his hammock, facing Thomas on his, hands clasped over his legs.

“It is only a suggestion,” Thomas said in a tone like walking on needles.

“Let me get this straight,” James began slowly. “After nightfall, once we sneak on shore in a skiff and somehow manage to make it to Miranda’s house, you want that I should don my naval uniform, pretend to be an officer and get on the Pearl. Then you want me to…what?”

He couldn’t give voice to what Thomas had actually suggested so he needed to hear it again.

Thomas licked his lips and gave him a steady, if somewhat pained, look.

“I do not want you to do any of it,” he corrected. “I am suggesting—as one possible option—that you seduce Mrs. Sutton and then get her on the island. Then you bed her and gain the information we seek from her willingly.”

Oh, yes, he had heard correctly. Then you bed her. What the fuck was Thomas thinking?

He heard a small, unbelieving chuckle escape him. He rose from the hammock, unable to keep himself from flashing Thomas a livid look.

“Are you completely mad?” he blurted out. “Even if we make it on the island, undetected from the sea, there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to simply slip into that house unnoticed by the British. There will be bodies to hide, and then how to convince the commander in charge on the island that I need to get on that particular ship…and…and…”

He struggled to think clearly, and yet…

Thomas rose, following his pacing with his eyes.

“Unfortunately there may be bodies, but if the interior of the island is as you say it will not be difficult to hide them. Your old uniform should suffice, and I can easily write you a letter which you can say came from the commander in charge. You could then hand it to the officer in charge on the HMS Pearl, saying that each ship was ordered to take on an extra officer since the pirate threat has grown. It is both simple and efficient; he should not ask questions.”

James kept shaking his head, unable to do anything else…and yet the words were making sense. He could not block out the logic he heard in the plan. Indeed, once he was successfully on board the ship, everything else should be easy, according to Eleanor and Thomas; seducing the easy Mrs. Sutton, convincing her to come ashore by gaining her curiosity and feeding her platitudes…

Then implying that he wanted to fuck her, and then fucking her. That was the part he was having difficulty with.

“Christ, Thomas,” was all he could say. He was about to say no.

“Consider our other options,” said Thomas smoothly. “If we wait too much longer, the British will make their move first. If we attempt to engage them with only these two ships, we will surely lose. Right now, Mrs. Sutton and what she knows is the best chance we have.”

James sighed. He was right. He desperately needed an advantage over the British. And he was desperate, and desperate times…

He went to his desk and poured another shot of rum. He held it in his mouth, feeling its sting, before swallowing it.

“There is a much quicker way, I suppose” said Thomas with distaste, coming to stand beside him. He fingered the compass on the desk top. “You could always hold a gun to her head or a knife to her throat…”

James shot him a look. “I would never.”

“I’m sorry. I had to make certain.”

Thomas's gaze softened.

“James, if you do this, I want you to know that it won’t affect me…us, I mean. It is strictly a strategic move for the greater good, and I would never harbor any feelings…”

He struggled to find the words, realizing he was struggling with his feelings at the same time as speaking them.

“I know.”

James pursed his lips and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and suddenly Thomas knew he was going to say yes and he hated himself, absolutely loathed his wretched mind and its ability to create the most intricately fucked up ideas. He reached for the rum decanter but James stopped him.

“You’ve already had your share for the day.”

Thomas smiled sadly. James had been so very dutiful in this particular regard over Thomas's health, though right now Thomas wanted to grab the decanter by the neck and chug its contents until he felt dizzy or threw up or both.

“So,” he said.

James took a breath and gave a nod. “I’ll present the idea to the others after breakfast.”

They both turned their heads to the stern window. The sky outside was beginning to lighten, turning from dark blue to gray.

“We’ve got a couple of hours yet. Come here,” said James, taking his hand. They were still dressed in only their breeches as James led him over to the stern window seat, grabbing their blankets and pillows off their hammocks on the way. He propped himself up against the window and Thomas automatically laid himself in-between James's legs, back up against his bare stomach and chest. James shifted and molded himself into Thomas perfectly by sheer practice and Thomas nestled comfortably against him.

He still felt sick about his vile idea and what he’d asked James to do. When his heart fluttered after James wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed the side of his neck, he felt even viler.

***

 

After breakfast that morning, Charles Vane stood with his back against the port wall, arms crossed and eyeing James critically. He wore his brown leather heavy coat in the cool of the morning and James thought it made him look more cultured and more barbaric at the same time, like one of his log cutting-turned-pirate crew.

“If this even works,” he began, “And you manage to infiltrate Hume’s ship, how the hell will you get back off with her without arousing suspicion?”

James stood leaning against the front of the desk, palms flat against the edge. He was trying to look calm and confident because he didn’t feel either at the moment.

“Mrs. Sutton’s reputation isn’t exactly a mystery,” he replied. “The crew all know what she’s about. Hume sees to it that she gets her way, and as long as there’s a strong presence of his force on the island, they won’t be able to stop me from taking her ashore.”

“And once you have her ashore,” interjected Jack, “exactly how do you plan on garnering information from her?”

Jack sat backwards in one of the cabin chairs, arms folded over its top. Anne stood next to him. James didn’t reply right away. He had always prided himself on keeping his expression a mask when needed but somehow Anne read him. She threw him a stunned look and snorted.

“Holy shit,” she said. “You mean to go through with it, to fuck her?”

James openly frowned at her as though her word choice made a difference. He ignored the scoffing sound John Silver made to his left and the audible sigh that came from Thomas.

“Gaining her trust is the only way,” he replied succinctly.

“Gaining her trust will take too fucking long,” said Vane, pushing himself off the wall and uncrossing his arms. “There’s a much quicker and easier way to get what we want from her.”

James felt the familiar burn in his chest that always had a special place for when Charles Vane irritated him.

“If I threaten her life and she tells me, I would still have to kill her afterwards or risk her telling everyone. I’m not killing an innocent woman.”

Vane rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. When he didn’t say anything more James let the next words tumble out of him, regardless of their consequences.

“You wouldn’t kill her either, if it was you, so leave your fucking anger over whatever the fuck else outside of this discussion.”

It wasn’t like Charles to even consider killing a woman in such a way. James could feel the same anger radiating off him as he’d felt on the Ranger with Eleanor. He understood all too well the reasons for Vane’s behavior, irritating as they were, but he had no patience for it just now.

Vane glared at him. His hawk-like eyes moved to Thomas and back to him, expression suddenly predatory. He gave a mirthless smile. James felt his mouth go dry.

“He’s made you soft and weak,” said Vane, nodding at Thomas. Thomas, who had quietly been standing in front of the cabin’s bookcase, visibly straightened himself.

“It isn’t weak to restrain oneself from killing needlessly, like a savage, unless of course you consider yourself as such. Do you, Captain Vane? Consider yourself a savage, I mean?”

Inwardly James groaned. He raised his fingers to his temple. Vane waved away Thomas like a gnat and turned his attention back to him.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. He jabbed a finger at James, coming to stand inches from him. “Just remember that we’re trying to save our entire way of life here, and you’re worried about the life of one fucking woman. What the fuck is she against the hundreds of lives of those like us? Hmm?”

He didn’t wait for a response but turned and stormed past everyone, slamming the door shut behind him.

James uncurled his clenched fists from the edge of the table.

“I believe he is actually in agreement with the plan,” said Jack, one eyebrow still raised as he looked at the door. He turned back to James.

“He really doesn’t like you, does he?”

“He’s preoccupied,” said James.

“Well, as…interesting as all that was,” said Silver, rising from the second chair, “Captain Rackham and I came up with a plan to take back the Marcus Aurelius, and it just so happens to coincide perfectly with your plan.”

“Oh?”

“You and Mr. Hamilton are to take a boat under the cover of darkness to shore; I was going to propose, that I, along with a handful of good, experienced men, take a skiff and row to the warship. She’s in desperate need of a good captain and crew if we’re to stand any chance against Hume,” he finished urgently.

“Then, in your absence,” he looked at James, “I would be sole captain of this ship until Captain Teach’s return, thereby giving every ship of our fleet a captain at last.”

Though he wanted to protest that plan James found he could not. He, too, wanted his Spanish warship back. This, however, would mean a major leap of faith in Silver.

He eyed both Silver and Rackham, then suddenly remembered Thomas. He swiveled in his chair to his left where his significant other still stood. He still looked a bit miffed after Charles’s outburst.

“What do you think?” James asked.

Thomas thought a moment.

“If you board the Marcus Aurelius, I assume you would then seek to take down the Pearl first—the ship directly in front of her—and as soon as possible, yes?”

“Of course,” said Silver.

“And that would include heavy gunfire and loss of lives, yes?”

“Yes…”

Jack snapped his fingers and frowned.

“But how will we know Captain Flint is off the ship?”

Silver made a pinched face, obviously not having considered that.

“You won’t,” said James, rising from the chair. He made himself leave the decanter of rum alone.

“Give me three full days,” said James. “That should also give you enough time to re-stock ammunitions taken from this ship and the Ranger. Then open fire.”

“We can have lookouts posted, to see when you leave the ship,” said Thomas. “No need to risk you being on that ship when they attack—“

“No,” said James. “No lookouts. It will tip off either the Pearl or the Scarborough when she passes or both.”

He dared to look over at Thomas, who was responding to that in silent anger, lips pressed together tightly and sapphire eyes blazing.

Silver sighed. “The fucking Scarborough. We’ll have to time our departure off this ship just as she’s made a pass by us, then row damn quick.”

“I told you,” said Jack. “I’ve calculated the time it will take you to reach that warship. You should have time to spare, which means Flint should be able to make it the slightly longer distance to shore…just.”

Jack looked to James quizzically, as though asking him if he trusted those calculations. James found that he did. He’d do his own later, of course. He gave Jack a nod. Jack rose, glancing at Anne.

“Well if there’s nothing further for the time being, I need to take a piss.”

Anne nodded at him.

“Be out in a minute.”

Jack hesitated, then took his leave. Silver also remained behind. Anne turned her attention to Thomas.

“You’re goin’ ashore, with all those redcoats and pirates and you don’ know how to use a sword,” she said.

James watched with interest as Thomas once again straightened himself, prepared to go on the defensive.

“I didn’t say I didn’t know how—”

“I meant you need someone else to go with you.”

She looked at James. “He’s gonna be preoccupied. You need someone else.”

Thomas seemed to sigh, the burning in his eyes fading somewhat.

“Are you…volunteering to be my chaperone?” he asked.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll make sure no one fucks with you, if you want.”

James couldn’t be sure but it looked as though that offer greatly pleased Thomas; the two of them had obviously engaged one another before today.

Thomas nodded. “Thank you, Anne,” he said in a much more casual tone, which seemed to put her at ease. She nodded again and left. James flopped down in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, looking up at Silver through his brows.

“And what the fuck do you want?”

Silver shrugged carelessly.

“Nothing much. Only to point out to you that you’ve both now aroused Charles Vane’s interest in him.” He nodded at Thomas. “You might as well just announce it to both crews, then.”

“Shut up,” said James in a mundane tone. He felt his eye twitch. This again.

“He does have a point,” he heard Thomas say. He turned towards the window seat, where Thomas sat, looking at him calmly. “I do not wish to draw any more attention to myself, especially not now, and especially not from him.”

“Vane knows better than to try to stick his nose in my business,” replied James. He looked pointedly at Thomas and then Silver. Silver frowned.

“For your sake, I hope you are right,” he said.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Adelaide Village, New Providence

The trip to shore went smoothly. Well after dark two skiffs from the Queen Anne’s Revenge quietly loaded and were lowered to the water, one rowing towards the massive Spanish warship anchored to the west and the other plodding on ahead towards the island.

James, Thomas, and Anne came ashore quietly. James motioned for the remaining three crew members to return to the ship. He had been keeping track mentally of the Scarborough’s movements; she had been going at four knots when they’d left the Queen Anne. At that rate, she should be just passing the halfway point on the other side of the island—assuming Hume did not change speed. He could only hope the skiff made it back safely before Hume rounded this side of the island again.

It was impossible to make out Silver’s skiff after a moment; the only light came from the moon and its reflection over the dark water played tricks on the eyes. James could, however, make out the giant black shape of the Aurelius. Her lanterns were doused, as Silver had said they always did at night so the Scarborough wouldn’t get any ideas. He turned back to his companions.

“Come on.”

They walked away from the beach to where Adelaide Village lay, a primitive but moderate-sized village populated by a hodge-podge of island natives, rogue pirates, runaway slaves, and more or less regular residents of New Providence who were down on their luck—at least more so than everyone else who lived here.

As he’d thought, the village seemed totally free of the British.

Even so he and Anne had their swords at the ready. Thomas, too, had come armed with a dagger at his belt. Despite everything James smiled in the darkness when he saw Thomas keep a hand wrapped around the hilt just as James had shown him on board the Scarborough.

They made their way through the village. James had to tell Anne to relax herself, lest they actually looked like they were ready for a fight.

The villagers looked at them but paid them little mind. James nodded casually to some of them. Then, at last, they came upon three British soldiers milling about the north entrance to the village, all armed. They rounded a hut, where James spoke in a low tone to several villagers until at last one of them replied in understandable English—a young black man. James asked how many British were around.

“Those three stay here,” he said. “But in the day there are usually more that pass by here and there, patrolling. The rest of them remain in Nassau.”

James thanked the man for his information and gave him a few coins to ensure his silence. They left the north entrance and took the long way around the village’s meager fencing, finding a downed part and climbing through. They stayed to the clusters of trees and underbrush as much as possible, clinging to the cover of darkness.

James lit a small snub of candle periodically to check his compass, making sure they were traveling northeast and towards the house.

After nearly a mile James finally began to recognize his surroundings. They had made it to the interior. And there were more soldiers here.

They patrolled up and down the main road which led to Miranda’s house. James muttered out a curse. No way to sneak around the four soldiers who milled around the middle of the road, looking bored but with arms at the ready.

They stayed hidden in the bushes several yards away.

“Looks like they ain’t seen no action,” mused Anne. “Should be easy enough to take ‘em by surprise.”

James nodded at the two patrol groups, marching in loose formation, further down the road. One group or the other was constantly facing the idle soldiers.

“We’ve got to be completely quiet, come up from behind each of them.”

Anne nodded. “You take those two by edge of the road. I’ll take the two close by.”

James hesitated. Anne sucked air through her teeth.

“I can do it. We don’t have any time!”

“James,” Thomas whispered, hand coming to rest over his arm. “She’s right.”

James sighed and nodded at Anne.

“All right. Wait until this patrol turns,” he said. He motioned at the formation coming up the road again. He knew they would turn at the exact same spot and start down the road again, just as the second patrol marched up the road.

When the opportunity struck, he and Anne quickly dashed out of the brush, leaving Thomas there. James stayed low to the ground, holding his sheath still as he ran up behind the first solider, who was staring out into the woods. He kicked a rock and turned slightly and James grabbed his forehead from behind with one hand, drawing out his sword and slitting his throat with the other. The man made a wet, gurgling sound, blood spurting out of the hole in his throat. James whipped his head around to make certain no one was looking. Then he very carefully lowered the body to the ground, pulling it into the tall grass off the road. He ducked low again and made for the closest clump of bushes. They were scraggly and never would have concealed him in the daytime. The second soldier had noticed his friend was missing. He walked towards the grass.

“Sergeant? Are you all right?”

James recognized the proper northern London accent, the tone so unsuspecting of anything truly amiss it made him want to laugh. Instead he waited patiently as the man walked over to the edge of the road. He caught sight of the blood there…

James quietly ran forward again, gripping his sword. This time the gravel of the road and his boots did not blend together and the soldier turned just as James reached him. He opened his mouth but James clamped a hand over it, forcing him back into the grass, where James knocked him down and elbowed his throat before he could make a sound. Then James slit his throat and tossed the body over that of the sergeant’s. 

When he looked down the road he saw to his relief the other two soldiers had also been dispatched. Anne joined him in the road, her sword coated in blood. James looked back to the bushes they’d come from.

“Thomas,” he hissed.

Thomas emerged from the bushes, crouching low. James looked down the road in just enough time to see one of the patrols facing them dead ahead and he quickly cut his hand through the air, heart in his throat. Thomas stopped dead in his tracks. James waited until the patrol turned, then motioned. Thomas joined them and they all quickly made their way over the gently sloping hill and out of sight of the patrols.

They reached the house a short time later. James looked at it with more than a little trepidation. He had only been back here once since Miranda’s death, and that was out of necessity to sleep, change clothes, and eat before setting sail for the Virginia tidewater.

Thomas, of course, had never been here.

It was strange to him, seeing the house with no warmth and inviting lights glowing from the windows. In past times he had often ended up making the journey back here after dark. How many times had he thrown open the front door, grateful beyond words to find the comforting presence of her there, waiting for him?

Now all was dark and cold as they entered. James crossed over to the large oak cabinet and pulled out two new candles, setting them in their silver holders and striking matches. He handed one to Thomas as he went about gathering up some lanterns and lighting them. Thomas wondered to the middle of the living room, turning around in a circle and drinking in the abode. Anne lingered just inside the door, arms tight to herself. James motioned for her.

“At least get cleaned up, have something to eat,” he said.

She nodded slowly and stepped further inside. James went about getting them all what was left of the food—some salted beef and potatoes he’d brought with him the last time he was here. It wasn’t much but Anne and Thomas would be able to eat in Nassau tomorrow.

They ate their supper with little conversation, save for some snippets about what would happen tomorrow and the following days. James felt anxious; he was sure he could feel their anxiety as well, though Thomas…

Thomas constantly looked up from his plate and around at the house. James knew he was trying to imagine Miranda living here and his heart ached. He saw the plethora of questions forming worry lines on Thomas's forehead, questions that would need answering.

No doubt this night would be difficult.

After dinner Anne accepted a bucket of water and soap and went out back, then came in only to tell them she would keep watch out the front a little while longer, in case another patrol passed by, though by all indications none would. James told her she was welcome to the guest bedroom, but she insisted on taking the couch instead.

The British had already been here, James told Thomas once she was outside. Things were not as he’d left them; they’d searched the place (amazing they’d even left the food) and had taken some supplies but he found the bedrooms largely untouched.

“And your old uniform?” asked Thomas. James led him back to the master bedroom and pointed to the bottom drawer of a plain cabinet against the left wall.

“I’d rather not bother with it tonight,” he said, suddenly feeling more anxious over what was in the drawer than he was of being in the house without Miranda.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas sat down on the edge of the bed, placing his candle on the table. He swept his fingers over it, coming away with no small amount of dust. He’d noticed at dinner that dust coated almost every surface—the bookcase, the cabinets, the window sills...

The seat of the chair next to his at dinner.

James was on edge and had been since they’d arrived. He looked at the bed as though he was going to bolt from the room any moment. Thomas patted it, hoping he’d stay instead. He did.

Thomas let out a sigh and looked around the room. The moment suddenly became acute and painful. There was only one subject to talk about here and now and they both resisted it for a long moment. Yet Thomas was intensely curious to know how they had lived here. He glanced over his shoulder at the bed, running a palm over its cover. Dusty. As good a place to start as any.

“Did you and she…share this bed?” he asked at last.

He watched the Adam’s Apple in James's throat bob as he swallowed.

“Yes,” said James. “Most of the time,” he added, staring down into his lap.

Thomas nodded. “Good. That is good. Did you…were you…”

He found himself unable to ask the most basic of questions where James and his wife were concerned; it stuck in his throat out of fear of the answer.

“I…we tried,” said James. He kept his voice carefully neutral.

“It was difficult, after everything that had happened in London,” he continued, still staring at his lap, fingers curled around the edges of the bed. “I comforted her as best I could, but after we learned of your death, it made everything more difficult between us.”

Thomas swallowed hard. His chest felt tight. He could not imagine what it must have been like for James, to believe him dead all that time. They had been reunited for close to a year now and still he could not imagine it, would never be able to.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tears stinging his eyes.

James raised his head and shook it as if to shake away the pain. Thomas watched his eyes fall back to the bottom drawer of the cabinet. James inclined his head to indicate the uniform within.

“She saved it, not me. I wanted to shred it, to burn it, throw it in the fucking sea. She wouldn’t let me. Said that we should not let our grief ruin the things that once gave us happiness.”

“She was right,” Thomas replied softly. He reached out and tenderly turned James's face towards his, leaning in for a kiss. James sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Thomas's. Thomas felt an immense wave of melancholy flood his system as he thought about Miranda and how fucking unfair everything had been for her. The thought grew and grew, until he pulled back from James, sneer on his lips.

“We should have given her so much more,” he said, staring down at the covers. “She sacrificed everything for us, and what did we give her in return? A few moments of comfort, of pleasure, but nothing else. Not even a child…”

James looked aghast at him.

“Thomas…”

Thomas kept staring down at the covers, tears blurring his vision. “Not a child, not a sense of honor, not even a chance to start anew, nothing but…but…”

“Please stop, I beg you,” rasped out James, his voice raw as he clasped Thomas's jaw and pressed a thumb over his lips.

Thomas did not want to stop. He wanted to keep talking, to pour out the list of sins against his late wife they had committed. He wanted to give voice to them, to make them as real as he now knew they were…

He was being too cruel. He’d upset James in the worst way. He’d upset himself.

He let a strangled, desperate noise escape his throat, a tear finally escaping down his cheek.

James kissed him hurriedly, lips following the trail of his tear and then the corners of his mouth and jaw and finally his lips, pressing their soft flesh together hard.

“I’m sorry,” panted Thomas. “I’m sorry.”

He pushed his palm against the base of James's throat, forcing some space between them. James resisted it, his body leaning in towards Thomas. Thomas saw he was clutching his under shirt with two fists.

Dear God, this was the second time he’d done wrong against his lover. Yet James looked anything but angry.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’ve every right to be angry.”

“I have no right to be cruel.”

“You are right. She deserved more.”

Thomas sighed. He was suddenly weary beyond words and wanted nothing more than for the day to be over. He stripped off his belt and trousers and lay down on the bed, not bothering to get under the sheets. James stood, jade eyes washing over him before he seemed satisfied Thomas was all right.

“I’ll go check on Anne. Then we should call it a night.”

Thomas nodded. James disappeared around the door frame and Thomas bit his tongue to keep from yelling out after him to come back. He knew James and knew he would probably take up the guest bedroom for the night but Thomas wanted him by his side.

After a few minutes alone in the room, his melancholy was overwhelming. He’d done it to himself, he knew, allowing all his regrets and morbid thoughts to drift to the surface. Still, he’d repressed so much for so long in Bethlam he felt a sense of relief at having finally allowed some of it to breathe. Even so, as the minutes ticked away Thomas knew it would be one of the those nights of either James or the drink.

He let out an immense sigh when James returned a short time later; informing him that Anne had seen no signs of any British in the area. He took off his belt and baldric and stripped down to his breeches, then wordlessly climbed into the bed behind Thomas, pressing his body up against his so that they were like two halves of the same whole. That thought made him feel better, that he could be whole again…would be whole again? He wasn’t certain if he was or not. James would be the deciding factor in that particular equation. James, and now this mission they were on together, a mission he wanted to see succeed as much as James did now. And that was the reason behind his mad idea about sleeping with the Sutton woman, wasn’t it? To make this plan work, to not see it fall to ruin and have the past repeat itself.

Thomas sighed again, feeling his breathing slow as sleep crept up closer to him. Dimly he was aware of James's arm coming around to his waist, of the tickle of his beard brushing the top of his backbone. All his thoughts lost their coherence and he gratefully allowed it, slipping off to sleep. The dreams stayed away all night and he slept soundly.

***

 

The next morning James led Thomas to a pond hidden a few hundred yards behind the house where the water was healthy and clean enough to bathe in. They washed themselves and put on fresh clothes. They had brought a trunk along with them on the skiff, filled with their clothes from Santa Ybel. Thomas's wardrobe now consisted solely of the more mundane, rougher wear like James's, complete with a pair of boots.

James watched as he fastened his belt with the dagger and scabbard on its side. He started when he saw how easily Thomas could blend in as a pirate now. A funny thing, considering they were attempting to leave that very lifestyle behind. Still, James found himself staring a moment too long at the way Thomas's pants clung tightly to his hips and how much more enticing he looked with a open v-neck shirt on, exposing his throat and collarbone and part of his chest where before it would have been well hidden under a cravat.

Even after their newfound time together he realized he still pictured Thomas as the well-tailored man he’d been when they had first met. That, he decided on the spot, would need to change.

Once back at the house Anne gave them a nod from the porch, biting into an apple and gazing out towards the road watchfully. They went inside and to the bedroom, where both their eyes fell to the bottom drawer. James was loathe to open it.

“I’ll be in the living room,” said Thomas. “If it doesn’t fit or something is amiss, I’m assuming there is a tailor somewhere in Nassau, yes?”

James nodded. “Or someone close enough to one.”

Thomas took his leave, leaving James change into his camouflage alone. He tried to shake away the ridiculous anxiety he felt over pieces of cloth and leather and went to the cabinet. The wooden drawer creaked, resisting his pull on it from long disuse. The faint scent of must hit his nose. The black tricorne hat was first. He pulled it out and set it aside. Next came the heavy blue coat with its silver embroidery and buttons, looking the same as the last day he’d worn it. Miranda had been careful to fold it neatly; there wasn’t a single crinkle in it. Then there was his black cravat, waist coat, and white trousers. And lastly, at the bottom of the drawer were the black boots. They were flattened and wrinkled but the leather still retained a faint gloss of newer days.

He took all the items and laid them on the bed, staring at them as though they might leap up and bite him—a sentiment not far from the truth, he thought. Finally he began undressing; stripping away the rugged clothes he’d worn for so long. He picked out the white trousers and undershirt and put them on. Already he felt silly as he fidgeted with the neck scarf, stuffing it under his collar. It felt alien, annoying.

The waist coat and boots came on quickly. He shifted around in the coat. It too felt like a foreign thing, unbelonging to the body that now wore it. He’d forgotten the weight of it, of the material and all those buttons—ridiculous, really. He placed the hat on his head, giving it a tug for good measure as he used to.

He stood facing the bed, unwilling to turn and face the mirror. When at last he did turn, his pulse quickened. There he was. His hair was much shorter now, with no queue, but even so the face that stared back at him was James McGraw. Everything was as it should be…and yet it was all horribly wrong.

His face carried more worry lines on it now; the lines curving beside his lips were deeper. And his eyes…Christ, were those his eyes? The same color as before, but somehow darker.

It was like someone had thrown a stone into his reflection and it had twisted on itself. He spun away from the mirror, chest heaving. His palms were sweaty. He turned them into fists, willing himself to regain control. He felt weakened at some core level of his being, as though putting on the clothes was akin to wrapping the past around him, letting it overtake him again, as all his confidence teetered precariously on the edge. He heard the sharp intake of breath at the door.

Thomas stood there, staring at him with parted lips. James could not read the expression on his face, didn’t know whether it was a good reaction or a bad one. He jerked the tricorne hat off his head and clutched it against his stomach.

“I look absurd,” he muttered.

Thomas said nothing but stepped into the room and approached him, blue eyes like two deep pools of water that washed over him. James allowed himself to be appraised, heart pounding. Thomas touched his earring.

“You’ll need to take out this. And take off these,” he said, brushing his fingers over the two silver rings on James's right hand. James had forgotten about them. He slipped them off and his earring as well, setting them on the bedside table. Thomas's silence was beginning to unnerve him.

“Well?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…”

Thomas faltered. His expression turned sorrowful. He gave a rueful smile.

“I know,” said James abruptly. He did not want to hear Thomas say it, that he looked like a ghost, that he had resurrected Lieutenant McGrew back from the dead.

“You look perfectly fine,” Thomas said instead. “Everything fits fine.”

James took a deep breath. Some of his anxiety was abating. He turned back towards the full-length mirror. It was easier this time to look at himself and now he scrutinized the wardrobe, adjusting his cuffs and fixing the cravat and smoothing out his shirt.

“You’ll make a fine officer once again,” quipped Thomas, this time smiling more brightly.

“You really think this will work? I’m no doubt rusty with commands, with certain things.”

“You know the language and the attitude. Hopefully that is all you’ll need for the short time you are on board,” replied Thomas.

“Assuming Silver doesn’t blow me to smithereens in the mean time,” said James.

“James, please.”

“Sorry. If Mrs. Sutton is as you and Eleanor say, I’m certain I can convince her in a timely fashion to leave the ship…Thomas?”

Thomas had turned away from him at the mention of Emily Sutton’s name. He dragged his gaze back.

“I know,” Thomas said curtly. “I was just thinking on how I am to get the information as accurately and as quickly as possible to relay it back to everyone else.”

This part of the plan they had not yet had time to discuss in detail. Once Mrs. Sutton told James what she knew of either her husband’s or Hume’s plans for Nassau, that information needed to find its way back to the ships as soon as possible. James would not be able to simply leave her without returning her back to the HMS Pearl; Mrs. Sutton had to remain convinced of his ruse until he was able to part ways from her properly.

It was either that, or kill her, which was not part of the plan.

“You know the town,” Thomas was saying. “Is there an inn or a tavern we might procure a room in, a place where we could each get a room side by side?”

James thought a moment. “There’s the Redfish Tavern just off of Main Street. It’s the largest tavern so there’s a good chance of empty rooms, at least if we get them during the daytime.”

“What about privacy? In the sense of the owner taking care of his clientele?”

James thought again. “I believe his name is Mr. Maris and he has a decent enough reputation. Why? What are your thoughts?”

Thomas told him his thoughts. They were every bit as detailed as they needed to be—and as shocking to James as the initial proposal had been. Yet once again he was convinced by the simplicity of it, if not thrown asunder by the sheer vulgarity of it. It would allow Thomas direct access to the information Mrs. Sutton gave, allowing him to hopefully take leave of the island and return to either the Marcus Aurelius or the Queen Anne and to relay the information to the captains while James finished dealing with Mrs. Sutton. They then decided that once James had returned Emily aboard the Pearl he would leave the ship, though he had yet to figure out exactly what excuse he would use. Thomas tried to help him come up with some but James insisted he would not be able to craft anything worth using until he was actually back on board.

“But that could take too long,” protested Thomas. “If the Aurelius doesn’t spot you, Silver will begin firing…”

James recognized the rising panic in the other man. He firmly planted his hands on Thomas's arms and looked at him evenly.

“Even if he does, it’s not as though the first cannon ball is going to rip right through me. In fact, the ensuing chaos might even give me a better chance to escape.”

“And without a skiff waiting for you in the water, where will you go?”

“I’ll swim back to the island. We’ll convince Anne to wait at or around the house. Then the two of us can get another skiff easily enough and row back. With a bit of luck, I’ll see you again in three days’ time.”

He held Thomas's gaze, trying his best to instill some confidence in him. A dark thought struck him.

“Thomas, I need you to promise me that you will not drink while I’m gone.”

Thomas's eyes shot up to his contritely as though he had already been thinking about it.

“I will not, as long as I’m convinced of your return.”

James made an exasperated noise. “Thomas…”

“That is the best I can do,” Thomas said firmly. James pushed back the recurring thought he loathed about this, about how it was always all or nothing with Thomas were he himself was concerned, that if he was gone then Thomas would allow himself to be reduced to some slobbering drunk with nothing to live for. James clenched his hands tighter around Thomas's arms, jaw clenched.

“I’d almost rather see you dead than as a fucking drunkard with nothing, do you hear me?”

His tone surprised both of them with is veracity. Thomas's gaze turned as soft as putty.

“I do,” he said.

The sound of someone clearing their throat by the door made both of them jump. Anne stood there, leaning against the door frame. James let his hands drop away from Thomas and he backed up a step.

Her hat was held loosely in her hands. She let her green eyes wonder over James's naval uniform, looking amused.

“Well shit,” she said.

“Are you ready?” he asked, ignoring her look of awe and amusement as he placed the hat back on his head.

“Ready as ever,” she replied smoothly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Nassau

Anne and Thomas both left their weapons and coats behind, taking the edge off their appearance enough so that she and Thomas could pass among the soldiers and navy men unmolested. James travelled some distance ahead of them, completely separate as they made a beeline for the Redfish Tavern.

James took the opportunity to reconnoiter the town. The changes since he’d last been here were both subtle and not so subtle. Redcoats were scattered about everywhere and their presence was having an effect on the populace. Even once they reached Main Street he could sense the nervousness of the people around him; everyone seemed subdued, as though they were on their best behavior lest they get punished. He figured it wasn’t far from the truth.

Here and there he saw evidence of scuffles. Twice he passed soldiers with a prisoner between them, shackled and chained for everyone to see and take notice.

If this continued, he knew it would not be long before the British erected a gallows, if they hadn’t already.

James let the anger rise in him at the thought. He needed it to motivate him to do what needed to be done.

For a moment he thought about Edward Teach and half-hoped he would spot the pirate captain by chance. The last anyone had heard from Teach had been in the letter he’d sent to the Queen Anne. For all James knew the man could be dead by now, but he did not think it so. Teach was a tough bastard, and if any pirate surrounded by the bloody British had a chance of escaping it was Blackbeard. If they survived what was coming he would have to thank Teach later for trusting in him, for trusting in Silver to come and find him.

Now, however, he returned his attention to the Redfish. He’d arrived. He went inside, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder for Thomas and Anne. The tavern was moderately crowded. James hoped that most of the clientele were just there for food and drink and not taking up the rooms.

He quickly discovered that his presence here, dressed as he was, commanded the attention of almost everyone as he passed them. They looked at him wearily, as sheep might look at wolves and inwardly James actually brightened. He could see for the first time that the people of Nassau were truly apart from England, that they were like him. They were his people.

He recognized some of their faces if not names, and he knew instantly when some of them recognized him for who he was. He was completely at their mercy, yet not one of them was stupid enough to call him out. He made it to the owner and huffed out a sigh of relief. He inquired about a room, then asked casually if there were any vacant rooms side by side. The owner—who was indeed Mr. Maris after they made introductions—said that there was.

He eyed James with the same wariness as the rest, not seeming to remember him to James's credit. Captain Flint was, for many in Nassau, more of faceless legend than anything else. James rarely visited other parts of town aside from Eleanor’s place of business. Now, he was so very grateful for that.

The rooms were upstairs and on the right of the darkened corridor. James inspected them, hands behind his back and making sure to come off as slightly arrogant to the owner, the way any British man would behave around those he considered his lesser. It had the desired effect. Mr. Maris was clearly nervous and told James he could use both rooms as long as he wished. Maris made a show of doffing his invisible hat, exclaiming loudly, “God save the King!” before he left.

A few minutes later, Thomas and Anne found him. Thomas went into the second room and to the wall that divided the two rooms. James was the only one armed with his officer’s sword. He pulled it out and drove it into the plaster, stabbing and pounding at it until it cracked and he’d chiseled out at least an inch. Then he did the same on the other side. Anne eyed the wall as James damaged it from the other room, until a tiny hole was made. She looked at Thomas and shook her head.

“I know what you plan to do,” she said. Neither one of them had felt the need to inform her of the details.

“Do you?” asked Thomas lightly.

“You’re gonna stay in one room while he fucks her in the other.”

She stepped up close to him, closer than what Thomas was comfortable with. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“How can you do that? I know…what he means to you,” she said in an even lower voice. Before Thomas could reply James came back into the room. Anne stepped away from him, though her eyes lingered on him. James looked at them both. Obviously he had just missed something. Thomas looked disturbed, enough for him to ask.

“Everything all right?”

Thomas nodded and smiled at him. “Yes. We are both beginning to feel a bit peckish, is all.”

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James becomes Officer Hamilton and boards a navy ship. Anne and Thomas get do to more bonding, which includes sneaking into Nassau Fort and giving Teach a heads up. :)
> 
> (Sorry for the inconsistent summaries here and there...I write them if I happen to remember the chapter since I wrote this a while ago)

First Officer Pembroke finished eating the cooked hutia from his makeshift tent. The thing was a rabbit-sized rodent of the New World, and though he detested the idea of eating any kind of vermin—modern men should never eat such base things—he found its taste to be surprisingly tolerable. True, there was plenty of regular meat to be had from provisions as well as what the men had made the cooks and maids and barkeepers give up to feed them, but Pembroke had gained at least some of his reputation as a good officer by sacrifice. Even Hume did not know how long they would be here, and they needed to watch their supplies carefully. So Pembroke decided he would let the men take part in the better meat, while he made do with the hutia.

Just as he finished a naval officer—a blue coat, not a red coat—made his way to Pembroke’s tent. He stood at attention and gave a quick bow, doffing his hat.

“Are you lost, officer?” Pembroke asked, licking his fingers and then using a napkin. “All navy personnel are stationed along the beach.”

The officer in question, while dressed properly, had a full beard on his face and unusually short hair for a navy man. Pembroke never would allow any of his men to run about without a clean shaven face. Hume must be slipping, he thought with some happy spite.

“Pardon me, sir,” said the officer. “I am Captain Hume’s newest lieutenant, and he’s ordered me to transfer over to the Pearl. Might you point me in the right direction?”

Pembroke frowned openly. What a ponce. He pointed out to the harbor, not bothering to get up.

“That one there, flying the Union Jack amidst all the merchant and pirate ships,” he said flatly.

The officer dipped his head in apology.

“Forgive me, sir, I am not yet used to seeing so many foreign ships. Thank you for your time.”

Pembroke shrugged and made a nasal sound, wiping his mouth with the napkin and lifting a mug to his lips. He watched the lieutenant hurry towards the beach, looking like a bumbling cabin boy as he dodged the commoners and other soldiers. If Hume was recruiting men of that ilk, Pembroke worried about their mission here. Still, it made him feel better about his own men; none of whom—Thank God—were like the bumbling lieutenant. 

***

 

As soon as James was out of view of the officer’s tent he righted himself and slowed down, taking up his usual stride. He paused to look behind him to see the second ship anchored across from the Pearl. She was the HMS William. She was also a frigate like Pearl, only she appeared much older. Even at this distance James could tell her hull had suffered wood rot in the past. Her sailing canvases were the dead giveaway, however, because they were yellowed and grimy with age. That boosted his spirits somewhat. Neither ship would be able to withstand a joint attack from their own ships, being both out-sized and out-gunned.

He continued on towards the harbor. It gave him a small shock to see the wharves bustling with activity from the British now and not the usual activity from familiar faces. It was as though he were in another port entirely. The feeling was disconcerting and furthered his resolve. He struggled not to sneer at “fellow” officers as he passed them. Damn England. He hoped he could blow them all up and instill such fear in the mother country that King George would forget his interest in this island altogether. A dim possibility, he knew, but a satisfying thought nonetheless.

There were plenty of skiffs readily available. The trick was not to draw too much attention to himself as a lone officer rowing out to the Pearl.

He made out who he assumed were the officers in charge of overseeing harbor operations. They had erected a shop-like stand with an overhang and either sat or stood around it, looking at what James figured were maps of the waters surrounding the island. He approached them, doffing his hat.

“Good day, sirs.”

“Good day,” they all mumbled back, nodding.

James dug into his coat pocket and produced a folded letter.

“I have here a letter from Captain Hume, requesting that I be assigned to the HMS Pearl for the time being, if you please.”

He had gained their attention this time. The officer sitting across from him stood and dropped the sextant he’d been using. He held out his hand.

“Oh?” he said.

James handed him the note, feeling his heart beat accelerate. The letter was written entirely in Thomas's fine script, using the clever rhetoric only he was capable of. If the officer knew Hume’s handwriting, he was fucked.

Instead the officer read over the whole of the letter. He looked back up at James and nodded, handing it back.

“All right then, Officer Hamilton. There are plenty of skiffs ready; take your pick. Good day to you and God Save the King.”

James nodded to them and tucked the letter away.

“God Save the King,” he said. He turned away so that they wouldn’t see his sneer.

***

 

“There’s somethin’ else we should do while we’re here,” said Anne as she and Thomas left the tavern.

“I hope you’re not going to suggest I sharpen all of your swords and clean your pistols,” he said dryly. It earned him a tight frown, which he now knew meant Anne was pleased with the joke.

“Vane mentioned it to me before we left. You’re lettered,” she said, looking at him directly. “Probably better than any of us. We need to get word to Teach about what’s goin’ on.”

Thomas stopped walking altogether.

“Ms. Bon—Anne,” he said. “We do not even know his location. I don’t think that’s possible.”

Anne made a ‘tuh’ sound and rolled her eyes. “You don’ know this place. If they’re holdin’ Teach against his will, there’s only one place he’d be.”

Thomas followed her outstretched finger across the beach and up on a hill, where the massive stone fort stood. Thomas eyed it warily.

“Yes, I had wondered about that structure; who might be in it.”

“The Brits now. No way I could get in,” she said, giving him a very suggestive look. Thomas sucked in a breath.

“But you could,” she said. “You don’ look too much like a pirate. Just a vendor, tryin’ to push his wares onto the soldiers for some extra coin. If you can make it past the main gate and see Teach in there, just slip him a note sayin’ that Flint’s here and we’ve got a plan.”

“That is a lot of ‘ifs,’ my dear.”

Anne gave him a hard stare, glancing around them. Some soldiers passed by them. She waited, then said in a low but demanding voice, “Look, Captain Teach is easily as strong as Flint or Vane. We need him.”

Thomas pursed his lips together and thought. He was here to help, in any way he could. He knew of Blackbeard’s reputation from the perspective of England and now he was hearing the same from Anne. So be it, even though he knew James wouldn’t like his involvement.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

HMS Pearl

 

James boarded the Pearl without too much fanfare. There were a few officers he saw immediately on deck, alongside the usual sailors. He was welcomed on board by Officer Lowe, who took and read Thomas's letter. Again, James's heart pounded with anxiety and again, the letter was accepted. He smiled and nodded and allowed himself to be shown to his quarters. Too much luck for one day, he mused darkly.

He quickly acquainted himself with the layout of the Pearl and kept a mental note of the number of her officers and crew in general, information that would become valuable once he was back on board one of his own ships.

He found Emily Sutton late that afternoon, after spending most of the day miserably bored and pretending to take interest in his duties as a lieutenant. Thomas had been right; everything came back to him, from how to yell at a lazy sailor to the usual time of day some officers snuck away for a nip from the liquor supply.

Mrs. Sutton emerged from the master cabin adjacent to the captain’s quarters as the sun was beginning to set, fanning herself with a large and lavishly designed fan from the orient. She was certainly pretty and perhaps just slightly younger than Miranda had been. She wore a yellow dress with a full skirt. It was not silk but nearly as expensive looking, and he judged her to be every bit the tawdry seductress he’d been told of as soon as he laid eyes on her. Good. One simple thing, then.

“Lady Sutton, isn’t it?” he asked, giving her a sweeping bow as she made her way on the main deck, looking hot and bored. She seemed to perk up when she saw him.

“Why, I do not recognize you, officer,” she said, giving him a wide smile and languidly fanning her face as she offered him her bare hand.

“Hamilton, ma’am,” he said, accepting her hand and making sure to give it a full kiss. When he looked up she was still smiling broadly at him. He returned it.

 

Later that evening and after he had exchanged pleasantries with the other officers in the galley he was assigned his first watch aloft for the next four hours. He made his way topside and saw Mrs. Sutton engaged in conversation with another lieutenant abeam of the portside. The officer—several years his junior—was trying hard to appear as though he was watching the sailors around him, but in reality James saw he was having a hard time not focusing on Mrs. Sutton.

The woman had folded her fan and was pressing close up to him. James discreetly studied them for several minutes and came to the conclusion that he’d already bedded her, or was going to. He frowned. So.

If he wanted Mrs. Sutton in a timely fashion it was evident he would have to become more aggressive. James walked across the deck and strode up to them, smoothly calling out to her.

“Beg pardon ma’am, but the air is growing chill. Might I get you a cloak or blanket?”

As expected, the other lieutenant straightened visibly and eyed James critically. Emily beamed at him, turning completely away from the other man.

“Why officer…Hamilton, isn’t it? How right you are. I was so caught up in seafaring conversation with Lieutenant Cunnings I had not noticed the chill.”

James glanced up again to Cunnings, who was now glowering at him through a smile and a nod. Emily glanced at both of them with a charming smile. Foolish woman, thought James. She certainly made no attempt at practicing subtly by baiting them against one another. Still James merely doffed his hat and greeted Cunnings merrily, then proceeded to follow Emily towards the cabin. They stopped in front of it. Emily suppressed a chuckle.

“I believe I am fine from here, lieutenant,” she said when James made to follow her in. James let his gaze linger over her, eyes roaming down her bare throat and to her pale and smooth chest, then to her bosom before returning to her face.

“Yes ma’am. My apologies. Upon occasion my too-casual inclinations gets the better of me and I forget myself.”

At that Emily raised an eyebrow at him. “Do they? Well, you needn’t apologize. I rather enjoy it when someone on this ship doesn’t act as though they are walking through the king’s court all the time. We could all stand to behave more casually, don’t you agree? Especially with all this tension in the air.”

James licked his lips and nodded, hands still firmly clasped behind his back.

“Yes ma’am. I believe I would.”

He turned on his heel to go when she called to him again. James almost smiled at how easy this was going to be. He turned.

“Lieutenant Hamilton, might you join me tomorrow morning for a walk around the ship? I make two rounds each morning with a spyglass to help stave off boredom. And I’m curious to know more about you.”

“More about me?” asked James innocently. He was about to humbly accept her offer but then a better idea got hold of him.

“I’m not certain how my story will be much different than that of any of the other officers I’m sure you are already acquainted with,” he said, “Although I will strive to be the best…company I can be in the presence of a lady on board.”

He held his breath. He had not only acknowledged Mrs. Sutton’s own promiscuity just now; he’d actually indicated he wanted her as well, and with rhetoric that bordered on outright bawdy.

Emily regarded him cautiously for the first time, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but the color had already rose to her cheeks and her gray-green eyes—much like his—shone brightly as a slow smile spread on her lips.

“You flatter me, lieutenant,” she said. “I shall expect to see you right here after breakfast on the morrow, then?”

James bowed. “Yes ma’am. My pleasure, ma’am.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Nassau

 

“Stay there,” ordered the officer in his red coat, holding out a palm. Thomas halted and gave a nod of his head.

“Good day to you, sirs,” he said, indicating the other two soldiers that stood guard in front of the entrance to the fort, bayonets in hand.

The officer in charge nodded curtly back to him.

“Good day. What business do you have here?”

Thomas stepped aside and flicked a wrist at the small, two-wheeled cart he pulled with him.

“I was hoping some of your men inside might want fresh oysters and cockles, considered a delicacy in England.”

The cart was nearly full to the brim with the shellfish, all fresh and still wet, courtesy of a little persuading from Anne and some fishermen she knew. The officer in charge approached the cart, surprise coating his features.

“Where did you get such a bounty of them?”

“Ah. The southern side of the island is covered with them in certain areas just off shore. They are of the best taste; here, if you wish.”

He selected an oyster from the bunch and offered it to the officer. The officer looked from it to Thomas and back down again, finally accepting the shellfish. He took out his dagger and cracked open its shell, downing the slick gray contents. He nodded.

“Not bad at all.”

The other two officers now approached him and shortly thereafter Thomas was allowed in through the massive wooden doors to the fort, cart in tow.

He spent some time selling bunches of shellfish to the soldiers just inside, who clustered around him with interest. The shellfish had been his idea when he and Anne Bonny had been trying to decide exactly what kind of wares might gain him access. Thomas could well remember how popular oysters had been at dinner parties in London. He often ate them himself, though never raw.

Once the soldiers had scattered away from him Thomas dared to pull his cart deeper into the base of the fort. No one seemed to mind so he held his head up and looked confident—and caught a glimpse of someone in particular.

Thomas peered over to the stone wall far across the fort, where a larger cluster of soldiers milled around and kept a watchful eye on a lone figure chained and sitting on a crate. The man was massive in size—tall even when sitting, with long limbs and a broad chest. His dark hair was loosely kept in a ponytail and he possessed an equally dark beard that grew down to his chest. He wore a belt and baldric, both empty of weapons. Though Thomas had never laid eyes on Edward Teach before there was no doubting this must have been the man. Now he could appreciate where all the wild and vulgar tales of his ruthlessness came from; the man was more intimidating than James was by far.

Thomas slowly dragged his cart here and there, pretending to show interest only in the man who approached his cart with coin. Eventually he made his way towards the rear of the fort, becoming acutely aware of the soldiers who patrolled the top of the fort all around him, as well as the men who were watching their infamous prisoner.

His palms grew sweaty as he approached them, slowing his pace and doing his best to appear small and harmless as they turned to look at him.

“Oysters and cockles for sale, if you please,” he said, trying to not look at Blackbeard.

One of the soldiers approached him and scrutinized his wares, then motioned for the others to approach. A few of them did and Thomas answered their questions and took their coin and saw that this was as close to Teach as he was going to get; nothing between them now but empty space. He thought hard and fast as the last few men purchased from him. He spoke loudly so that Teach would hear.

“And my name is James Silver, in case you ever wish to purchase more,” he said, shooting a look to Teach, whose head had jerked up to look directly at Thomas. Thomas did not let his gaze linger and quickly looked back to the men, nodding and accepting their thanks.

“Excuse me,” said Teach. His voice was deep but as gentlemanly as could be. “Do me the smallest of favors and allow me a few of those?” he asked, eyeing a couple of soldiers in particular. They sighed and snorted at him, then shrugged.

“Might as well. God knows I don’t want to listen to him moan for food the rest of the day,” one of them said. He looked to Thomas and jerked his head towards Teach.

“Go on, but don’t get too close, or you’re liable to get your dick bitten off by that one.”

He and his fellows laughed. Thomas didn’t reply but took his cart over to the wall beside Teach, stopping a few feet away. He turned around and pretended to select certain shellfish, putting them in a small pouch. While his hands rummaged through the cart he pulled a slip of paper out from his sleeve and put in the pouch as well. He looked out at the soldiers, who watched him with little more than forced interest.

Thomas turned to Teach with a smile, thumb flicking against the tiny edge of paper that stuck out from the bag. Teach looked from the bag to Thomas and gave him the tiniest of nods, which Thomas returned. Then Thomas crossed the fort to the gates and took his leave. He went over his note in his head, hoping the pirate captain would be able to read it soon:

E. Teach,

I am a friend of Captains Flint and Silver, hoping this letter finds you still alive. Your message was received. Rest assured that a plan is in motion to attack Hume and free the island. Expect some action within three days’ time.

\--T. Hamilton

_____________________________________________________________________________________


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James goes through with Thomas's plan involving the Lady Sutton. Thomas's grieving over Miranda takes on a new aspect, mixed up with his feelings for James. I just remembered I really love this chapter because it's deliciously screwed up with feelings. Also more Thomas and Anne. :)

HMS Pearl, day two

James let out a hearty laugh at the joke, sharing in Emily’s mirth as they chatted against the gunwale of the starboard side. He had just finished his watch and though he was tired and wanted to rest in his bunk he knew there wasn’t time to lounge around.

He had walked the ship with Emily that morning, becoming well acquainted with her and had casually inquired about her family. When she had spoken of her husband, Lord Sutton, and his position in Parliament James had feigned an interest in politics, spurring her on.

He had learned that Lord Sutton was still a prominent member whose specific areas of interest included bolstering the pockets of the East India Company as well as the building of more warships to aid in His Majesty’s fight against the pirate raiders of the New World.

James had then feigned further interest in the ship building, telling her of his love of ships as an excuse. She had told him that England was at this very moment I the process of spending a great deal of money for the building of at least a dozen more warships and finding space for them to make berth. They were all going to be bound for the New World.

Then James had brought up the names of certain ships that were now sailed by pirates, which had provided him with a link to speak about certain pirates.

When he had asked about Captain Flint, Emily had shuddered sensually, clasping his sleeve and saying that Geoffrey Hume planned on cutting off Flint’s head and putting it on the Scarborough’s figurehead when he sailed back to England.

At that point James had a powerful need to change the conversation. He took advantage of Mrs. Sutton’s freight over Flint and her hand upon his sleeve. He placed his own hand over hers and held it here.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Sutton, I did not mean to upset you with such talk.”

“Oh no!” cried Emily. “It invigorates me most of the time! I do detest all the gory details, however, as any civilized woman would. And please, call me Emily,” she added, planting her other hand over his.

James smiled at her longer than he knew was proper. He considered when it would be best to broach the subject of going ashore. She was not ready, not quite yet. And time was growing short. He had told Silver no more than three days before ambushing the Pearl, which meant he needed to convince her to leave the ship with her—against her better judgment—by tomorrow evening.

“Is something the matter, lieutenant?” Emily asked him.

James snapped himself out of his thoughts and patted her hand.

“No, Mrs. Emily. I was only thinking about my duties…and, I admit, I was hoping we might walk the ship again.”

Delighted, Emily quickly agreed, saying they would walk again in the morning.

“In truth, my lady,” said James, looking down and pretending to be humble, “I was hoping you might join me tonight, after the nine o’clock watch in the hold.”

Emily gave him that cautious look again, revealing her intelligence under all that fluff and bawdy behavior.

“That,” she said, tilting her chin up at him and gazing at him through her lashes, “Will require some manner of discretion,” she said. “If you are serious, lieutenant, I expect you to make the path there…free of obstruction. Lieutenant Cunnings especially is most watchful of me at times.”

James nodded. “Do not worry. I am quite adept at stealth maneuvers, my lady.”

 

That night James had Emily Sutton up against the starboard wall of the hold, pressing his body against hers while she kissed him fiercely, hands roaming through his hair and down his neck and clutching at his naval uniform. He seduced her as he’d seduced Miranda on many an occasion by whispering into her ear and licking her earlobe.

Emily was no stranger to this, he could tell, and so he did not bother to go slow. He showered her bosom with kisses, tongue lashing out to get at her nipples underneath the tightly-laced corset. Her chest heaved against his lips as her fingers wound themselves in his hair. They continued on that way for several minutes, then Emily pushed back against his chest, panting.

“Lieutenant…”

“Call me James,” he said, gripping her arms and giving her nips along her throat. She laughed breathlessly and pushed against him once more.

“James,” she said. “We must slow down. I am not so foolish to run the risk of being scandalized on one of Geoffrey’s own ships.”

So, some wisdom after all, he thought.

“Then please, Emily,” he said. He dropped the lighter voice he had invented for this role and instead spoke in his own voice, now laced with desire. “Let us leave this ship and go ashore.”

He felt her shudder beneath him, a small moan escaping her throat. Emily pushed against him so she had room to speak.

“Ashore?” she asked, blinking.

James nodded. “Yes! I have been to Nassau. There are decent taverns within, places we could pass into that are safely guarded by soldiers.”

He didn’t want to give her time to consider it so he knelt down and ran his hands up under her skirts and up to her thighs. Emily slapped at him.

“Come back up here,” she said, breathless all over again.

He complied, planting kisses along her bosom again.

“Geoffrey would have my head if he knew I left the ship without permission,” she said, tracing a finger down the side of his face and slipping it underneath his coat.

It was a valid concern, but one she was ready to ignore. James gently pushed her toward that end.

“He will not know; he’s sailing in bloody circles around this island like a half crazed dog chasing its tail.”

This elicited a long laugh from Emily, who had to cover her mouth with her hand. James caressed her arms, looking into her eyes that were so like his it unnerved him.

“Come with me. In a few hours’ time there will be less than a skeleton crew at watch. I can bribe the petty officers. From what you’ve told me, you know none of them will try to stop you.”

“But what about you, James?” she asked, concern furrowing her brows for the first time.

“I shudder to think of you getting in trouble…”

“Nonsense,” he said. “And if I do, I am already convinced it will be worth it.”

She bought it all at last, hook, line, and sinker. Foolish woman, he thought again. For all her underlying intelligence it was no wonder neither Lord Sutton nor Hume were worried about giving her sensitive information. They thought her too dull to ever think about spreading any information, not knowing instead that she was too careless to not spread such things.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Nassau

 

Thomas put down Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus for the tenth time that day, restless and bored. He and Anne had returned briefly to the house so Thomas could gather some clothes and something to read while he waited at the Redfish Tavern. He always had to press Anne to speak but when she did he found she had the most interesting perspectives on things. He’d asked several questions about Nassau and its operations, many of which James had already answered but that did not mean they where the whole truth. Anne spoke vaguely about her past and Thomas found he was able to relate to her on some basic level. Both of them had been driven from their home by the actions of so-called “gentlemen,” forced to find out in the worst way how hypocritical and unforgiving English society could be.

Now she had wondered back in to his room, evidently bored of guarding over him for the time being and so he sat his book down. Anne told him about the goings on in the street and that the British patrols were still outside in force but that she saw no movement from the harbor yet.

They fell into a short silence. In the space between the words of Marlowe and Anne he was forced to think about James and what he might be doing and who with. But no, James had mentioned something about waiting until they were on shore before completely seducing her. It was an activity too dangerous on a ship.

What if he’d been discovered? What if the British had him as a prisoner?

No. Thomas set his thoughts firmly against that. By now he had learned there were plenty of little birds in New Providence and that if James were being held prisoner they would have heard about it by now. He turned his attention back to Anne. She sat cross-legged on the bed, picking her nails with a dagger.

“Yesterday morning in this room,” he said. “You said something to me. What was that about?”

She looked at him and spoke in a voice that was a little too innocent.

“What?”

Thomas said nothing but frowned at her. Anne sat her dagger down in front of her and took off her hat, laying it over the dagger. Thomas waited.

“Your business is your own, I know that,” she said. The lines next to her mouth grew deep. “Guess I wanted you to know that I knew, ‘bout you and him. I know because…”

She hesitated. Thomas blinked at her in wonder. Just how clever was this seemingly uneducated and shy killer of a woman? He rose from the room’s single, worn-out divan and stood next to a bed post. He did not want to intimidate her out of speaking but Thomas was very anxious just the same.

“Anne,” he said.

Anne looked up at him, pretty green eyes narrowing then softening. She stood and walked up to him, voice dropping.

“I know because I love someone other than Jack, another woman. And I do love her, too. Love both of them.”

Thomas's lips parted in surprise but he remained silent. Anne shrugged, raising her hand to grip the bed post.

“Thought it was some passing fancy,” she said. “But it’s not. Seein’ you and Flint together, even when you’re not together, even when…you’re lookin’ at one another, I think I can see me and her for the first time.”

He blinked, opening his mouth to speak but instead only sucking in air the first try. Anne shrugged again, her confidence faltering in his silence but Thomas reached out and placed his hand over hers on the post as she turned away.

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d said it but the two words were true and spoken in earnest. He thought again on what she had said and felt the rotten, guilty thing in his chest hiss and claw at him. She had been trying to tell him it was a betrayal, setting James up like this with someone else.

Anne was smiling at him—an actual smile this time—which made him feel worse. Her smile faded.

“It was not what I wanted,” he said. “We were…desperate for a plan, and once the idea came to me I could not simply forget it, so I suggested it to him.”

“You did more than that. You convinced him,” she said. It was not a retort, only a statement of fact. Thomas nodded.

“I did. And I feel like an asshole for it.”

“I won’t argue that,” she quipped. “But just remember, he agreed to it. You’ll get through it, if I was right about the two of you. Was I?”

He looked up at her sharply.

“You mean, do we love each other?”

She said nothing but held his gaze. No one had ever asked him that question before, not in the eleven years he’d known James, and he had never imagined in his wildest dreams that someone would ask it without hatred or malice or bigotry. But now someone was; someone like him.

And I do love her too. Love both of them.

Her words rang in his ears. God, what were the odds?

A dull ache rose in his chest, alongside the guilt that formed into Miranda’s face in his mind. He swallowed hard.

“Yes, I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anything in this life.”

Anne seemed to flinch at his response. She gave a tiny nod. The sound of boot steps and a man and woman laughing came from down the hall and both he and Anne startled.

“Stay here. I’ll check,” she said, swiping up her hat and dagger off the bed and very carefully opening the door.

Thomas already knew it was James. That was the signal that they had arrived—his loud laughter and purposefully heavy boot falls. Relief swamped him that his lover was alive and well. Anne quickly slipped her head back through the door and turned to give him a nod in confirmation.

“You good to go?” she whispered as the laughter and foot falls grew close.

Thomas nodded, his mouth going dry and his relief replaced with dread.

“Yes. I’m fine,” he said.

“I’ll be downstairs until…whenever,” she said. She opened the door and left, closing it behind her.

It was almost cruel of Anne to have wrung his guilt up to the surface, just before James was to fuck this woman.

Heart beating loudly in his ears, Thomas quickly took up a few sheets of parchment and a bottle of ink with a quill. He quietly sat the chair next to the wall where James had chiseled out a fracture of a hole and sat the paper and bottle on the seat of the chair, crouched down on his knees, and waited.

***

 

James shut and locked the door behind them as they entered the room. His eyes glanced over at the fissure in the wall. It looked like nothing more than that; only a very close inspection would reveal there was actually a hole there.

He returned his attention back to Emily, who was fanning herself profusely again. He’d discovered it was a habit she kept whenever she became overheated—from one thing or another.

“…but you simply must tell me about the women in Portsmouth,” she was saying. “I’ve heard they’re all either bitter old widows whose husbands have died at sea, or they find most interesting ways to keep themselves occupied while their husbands are gone.”

She gave a throaty chuckle at him, slowing down her fanning at looking at him with pure desire. James felt his groin stirring in response. He was completely on edge and unnerved, knowing Thomas was but a few feet away and listening to everything that was spoken, but as Emily approached him he was also becoming aroused.

They kissed gently. Emily tugged at his coat.

“You really should unburden yourself, James. The air is most stifling in here.”

James complied, taking off his coat and his waist coat and tossing them carelessly aside. He reached out and hooked her around the waist.

“Yes,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Yet I find the heat most invigorating,” he said. Emily gave a shaky sigh. He kissed her again, harder this time. She tossed the fan on top of his discarded coats and ran her fingers along the inside of his under shirt.

“Mmm. You do feel quite warm, lieutenant. Perhaps you had better sit down.”

James raised an eyebrow at her, lop-sided smile on his face as they made their way to the bed. He sat her down beside him and picked up where he had left off the night before, reigning kisses along her exposed throat and chest. Now he pulled loosed her corset until her finely shaped breasts were free.

“Oh, James…” she moaned.

He buried his face in-between them…and had a powerful feeling of déjà vu hit him like a bullet.

Miranda, straddling him in the carriage for the first time and he opening her dress; he felt drunk with want…

Her bedchamber…hot, sloppy kisses on his shoulder, her nails in his back, the warmth from between her legs…

James moaned and pulled at the corset impatiently, his cock stiffening.

“Oh yes, James, please,” Emily breathed.

James took her hand and pressed it against his officer’s trousers. Emily gasped at his hardness, grinning and biting her lower lip.

“Here,” she said. “Allow me.”

She shuffled her skirts around and got down on her knees, breasts bobbing beautifully before him. She made quick work of his fly and pulled out his cock. James moaned again. He turned towards the wall and stared at it. A tidal wave of heat flooded his senses when he thought of Thomas, listening, maybe even watching.

No, that was wrong. Thomas would be jealous, surely. Neither of them had been happy with this part of the plan, and yet…

James gasped as Emily’s mouth covered him. He clawed at his under shirt and took it off. She took him down expertly and James kept telling himself she was little more than a well-bred whore, that this was purely out of necessity.

He started panting. He closed his eyes and thought unabashedly of Thomas.

 

The quill lay over the parchment with a large drop of ink soaking through the neglected and forgotten paper. Thomas sat pressed next to the wall on his knees, ear against the fissure. A layer of sweat had broken out over his forehead. His mouth was dry and thick. He recognized the sounds of their kissing easily enough, then Emily had gasped loudly and a few moments later had said something like ‘allow me.’

The he’d heard James gasp loudly and the sound had caused his cock to twitch in his pants. He was frozen in place and frozen in conflict—he felt jealously curdling up in from his gut and yet he felt a familiar sexual heat there as well.

James moaned again, muttering something to her and sounding short of breath. Thomas swallowed. He moved his face up to the fissure and frantically brushed at the dusty and loose crumbs of plaster and wood there, until he could see light and dark shapes through the hole. He squinted.

James sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless and legs spread as Emily worked him from between, her head moving back and forth. A sharp pang of lust hit Thomas.

James's hand came to her hair, gripping it as he tossed back his head and moaned in the back of his throat. He was clearly enjoying himself, perhaps too much. Thomas gritted his teeth. Why in God’s name had he even thought of this?

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. His own breathing became unsteady as James pulled Emily up and over him. He got her top half out of the dress and Thomas could just make out him fondling and sucking at her breasts. Emily writhed over him like a snake. Thomas couldn’t make out her face, only her figure and dark, long hair and he thought of his late wife with a groan.

No, this was not right. Miranda had been dead for less than a year. A fucking year! It wasn’t enough time, he decided. It would never be enough time. Seeing James with this other woman, this stranger…

Thomas closed his eyes and willed his cock to be still, willed his lust to go away. Wrong, wrong, wrong. What would Miranda think of seeing James with this harlot, fucking her, using her as a pawn? Surely she would not approve. Surely she would be angry…

He opened his eye and peered through the hole again. James had flipped her on her back and was stripping off his trousers, revealing his stiff and full manhood to her. Thomas bit down on his tongue. He pressed his fingernails into the wall as another pang lit up his gut and his cock. He watched as James grinned seductively at her, pulling on himself. Emily tore at her dress until the whole thing was off and she lay naked and prone on the bed. He watched James mount her. Thomas curled his hands into fists. He closed his eyes but found he could not turn away. He felt powerless, helpless…and his own need was growing until he could not ignore it.

As James thrusted into Emily, Thomas opened his fly and pulled out his cock. He was rock-hard and aching. He pulled on himself, funneling his hand over his shaft and watching as James took Mrs. Sutton. Thomas strained through the hole, eye muscles becoming tired. He ignored the pain; eyes drinking in the sight of James's muscular body, moving over her, letting soft grunts escape him.

When James picked up his pace Thomas picked up his, fighting the urge to curse out loud, to pound his fists against the wall and put an end to all this even as he wanted it to continue.

He finally stopped looking, throwing his head back and frantically jerking on himself as he heard James come in the other room. He came moments later, biting into his wrist to keep from crying out.

 

Sometime after they had both caught their breaths, James propped himself up on an elbow and traced a finger down her bare arm.

“So my dear, I hope you are now cooling off,” he said.

Emily gave a long and deep sigh, rolling onto her back again to look at him. Her eyes were still lidded and dark, like he knew his own were. He raised them to the hole and swallowed hard. No. He could not even begin to think about Thomas now or the delicate armor he’d constructed within would crumble away and he’d be forced to leave Emily to rush into the other room, desperate to see Thomas and reassure both of them it was all just a ruse.

“My, my, James,” Emily cooed at him. “That was quite the performance.”

He forced a smile at her. They chatted lightly after that. When Emily reached for her clothes he stopped her from pulling on anything other than her under clothes.

“Wait. Come back.”

He patted the bed next to him, stretching out on it in only his trousers. Emily grinned and obeyed, pleased to see he was not in a hurry.

“Let us talk,” he said.

“And what shall be our subject?”

“I must confess I’m shamelessly curious as to what Captain Hume’s plans are for this island. I do hope he is clever enough to wrestle it from the grip of these pirates...”

 

Thomas listened, feeling as though he were in a trance as James slowly but surely pulled the information from her.

He jotted down notes, then was forced to write lengthier ones, then short snippets. One full page, then another, and onto a third one for good measure. By then however the conversation became less focused. At some point Thomas thought it safe to put down the quill. He looked over the notes, digesting the vital information. It was enough to shake him out of his trance.

The British did indeed have a fleet anchored just off the other side of Eleuthera as Vane had indicated, only their number was at eight and more were being dispatched. The plan was to have a continuous flow of ships from England to the Bahamas, until word came back that the threat had been extinguished.

That was the word Emily had used, quoting Hume: Extinguished.

The fleet would then keep sending ships in twos or threes to New Providence in particular, as Lord Sutton was keenly aware of Captains Flint and Vane and their danger. Sending out the ships in this way allowed the main body of the fleet to remain protected from an attack behind Eleuthera and would keep the pirates guessing as to where exactly the ships were coming from—or so they thought.

Furthermore Hume’s strategy in particular was to mount a surprise attack on the Ranger and very soon, Emily said. The Scarborough would join the Pearl after dark to attack the smaller brigantine. Thomas knew Vane could not move his ship from its current position, lest one of the guard ships in the port turned its attention to boarding the Walrus and discovering the five million Spanish dollars on board.

Then, Emily said, Geoffrey Hume would signal the remainder of the fleet to attack the Queen Anne’s Revenge and the Spanish warship. Such a force of England’s best ships, Thomas knew, would mean disaster for them in their current state.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt light-headed and dizzy. He took several deep breaths and crossed the room to retrieve a cup of water from the pitcher provided. It was warm but wet. He went back to the wall. He ignored the hole but pressed his ear against the wood. They were still talking. Emily was going on about someone’s salon and her evening spent there. James for the most part was quiet and Thomas could only hope he was getting ready to end the conversation and suggest they return to the ship. He gathered up his notes, folding them and carefully tucking them away inside his leather vest. He waited until at last he heard the two of them exit the room, door shutting behind them and James's boots thudding down the corridor and then the stairs. He then left the room and the tavern to find Anne.

***


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Anne make it to James and Miranda's house in the interior, where Thomas gets his first impression of James's life for the last decade. Later, Silver is forced to tell him James has been found out and captured. Anne has an idea. Lots of flint/hamilton angst, lots of momentum building (I hope!)

He insisted they go by the house one more time. Anne warned him it was still dangerous to be anywhere on the island, but when Thomas set out towards the interior she grudgingly followed.

“Why’s it so important to you?” she asked as they approached yard, flanked by a vegetable garden to the left and a group of goats and geese to the right. Thomas wondered exactly who tended them now, since James clearly did little at all with the house.

Thomas mounted the steps to the porch. He liked Anne and trusted her as an ally and possibly even a friend—but as he considered her question, he knew those parts of his past that she was asking about he still wished to keep wrapped around him like a warm—and painful—blanket, unable to reveal himself fully. He chose his words carefully.

“I suppose I want to know what it’s been like for him here, all these years,” he said. It was part of the truth, anyway. If Anne was suspicious of that response she didn’t show it.

“I’ll keep watch,” she said. “Don’t take too long. We need to get to the warship soon.”

“The Marcus Aurelius,” Thomas corrected her with a bit of pride. “That’s what he named the ship.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, the name clearly carrying no meaning to her. Thomas simply smiled and shrugged. He thought again about the garden and the wondering animals.

And I understand why he has neglected this place, he thought. If the dust on the inside was any indication James had not stayed here for a while. He’d spent the last couple of days trying to imagine what life had been like for the two of them. Their conversation in the bedroom had left Thomas unsatisfied. It wasn’t that he thought James was lying or that he was holding something back; Thomas simply wanted something tangible, some sign of his wife in this place, something that spoke about the two of them together. He needed that; he wasn’t entirely sure why except that after what had just happened in the tavern it was important to him.

He made a pass through the living room, finding it mostly unremarkable. The same with the kitchen area. He found it very odd that the kitchen was inside the house rather than as a separate building nearby. He’d seen a shack on the side of the house that he was confident served as a meat and smoke house. He reminded himself this was the New World and that James had not had the money for anything approaching a proper English home. He tried picturing James in the shack, killing and gutting a goose or pig, then Miranda cooking it.

His hand froze over the back of the divan. The James and Miranda from his time had not the slightest clue how to do such things. How they must have adapted. Astonishing.

It wasn’t until he came to the bookcase in the master bedroom that he took any real interest. He had already scanned the book titles when he had picked out Christopher Marlowe earlier. He had been delighted to see the two of them had continued their interest in Plato, Locke, Swift, even William Shakespeare—all the writers he and his late wife had shared with James once he had come into their lives.

Now, however, he began pulling out certain books, eager to revisit a few random sentences and lines, however briefly. He spotted some hand-written script on the first blank page of La Galanta, a Spanish novel. His breath caught in his throat. It read, in James's handwriting, I’m Sorry.

He flipped through the rest of the book but found no other inscription. He pulled out the book beside it and looked to its first page as well. Nothing. Another and another. He was being silly. He pulled out a copy of Locke’s Leviathan. And there was another inscription, written by James: Visited Eleanor Guthrie today. She is on board with our plans. Sorry I couldn’t stay.

Another inscription after a longer search: See you tonight. Leave a light on for me?

Intrigued and moved, Thomas madly went through the bookcase, laying open the books with James's messages inside them and haphazardly shoving the rest back on the shelf. Then he stumbled across a message that made him gasp: Mr. Gates knows where the Maria Aleyne is. We’ll talk in the morning.

He knew well the name of the ship his late father had been on when he had died.

And then: I’m sorry. Have me for dinner?

And finally: I’m sorry. I love you. I just miss him.

Thomas laid the last book down amongst its brothers with an unsteady hand. He swallowed the lump in this throat, closing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears. Well. He had wanted some kind of proof. Here it was.

He caressed the old and dried ink of the last words.

“I’m so sorry, my loves,” he whispered out loud. Those last eight words were all the proof he needed. 

Their love had remained, but it had been ripped and gutted over the loss of himself. He’d already known this; James had told him as much already. But to see this…

Thomas looked over the dozen or so books laid out on the floor before him, each with James's handwritten, intimate notes on their first pages, each of them speaking of loneliness, of separation, of desperation.

As far as Thomas knew, James had never marked in books until he himself had written his own intimate message inside the cover of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations. 

How agonizing it was to be away from him then. He wanted to embrace James, to kiss him furiously and tell him over and over that he loved him, that he loved Miranda still…that James should still love Miranda, even thought she was gone.

Flashes of James and Emily jolted through his mind and the heaviness of sorrow in his chest was replaced by the weight of jealousy again, pulling him down like a stone sinking to the ocean floor. 

Anne barged through his thoughts, poking her head inside the doorway.

“We ought to be goin’ now,” she said.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The Marcus Aurelius

 

Silver looked up at the sky. The sunny days they’d had this past week were gone again, and the same dreary gray clouds once again threatened him with rain. He wished he was a superstitious man, then he’d be able to sing a chant or throw some damn salt over his shoulder to ward off the bad weather. 

Instead John merely sighed. At least it would be warm and rainy. Nothing worse than a cold, English rain.

He and his selected crew had rowed their skiff out to the warship without incident, with all hands making it aboard just as someone caught sight of the Scarborough’s bowsprit rounding the island’s eastern side. They had quickly finished climbing aboard and Silver ordered all hands to remain silent until she passed. Then the skeleton crew he had left to care for the ship and the new crew had reunited and Silver had given a speech explaining Flint’s return and their current situation.

He left out any mention of Thomas Hamilton for simplicity’s sake.

“Captain! Captain!”

The words carried over to him all the way from the foremast, where a hand was scrambling down the ratlines and running towards Silver. The crew stopped and stared. The man—Mr. Dobbs, whom Silver had hand-picked to join him on the Aurelius—raced up to Silver and pointed out at the HMS Pearl. 

“I swear I saw Captain Flint get captured, sir,” he said with wide eyes. Silver blinked. It took him a moment to understand what he was hearing. He jerked out his spyglass and eyed the Pearl’s topside as much as her raised quarterdeck would allow. He could see several men running towards the aft gunwale. A single, loud shout caught his ear, followed by a single shot. Silver lowered the glass and grabbed Dobbs by the shoulder.

“How certain are you it is Flint you saw?”

“Sure as I know my own name,” Dobbs replied. “Me father always said I had eyes like a fuckin’ hawk. It was him. They found him out! What do we do?”

Silver pressed his lips together in a tight frown. Already the crew were gathering around with anxious faces. For the first time Silver felt the full force of his captaincy pushing down on him.

Under usual circumstances he would have turned to look at Flint beside him for advice.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“We delay the attack by a few hours, give him a chance.”

Dobbs looked at him expectantly.

“And then?”

“And then I don’t know yet,” Silver snapped. He turned and addressed the crew.

“All hands to stations! Ready the guns but do not fucking engage and keep the gun ports closed. Mr. Dobbs, take a skiff and get to the Queen Anne and bring back Billy Bones. And fucking hurry.”

***

 

From her position in the small boat halfway to the Queen Anne, Anne Bonny peered out at the other skiff making its way toward the Aurelius. Of the two figures gesturing at them she recognized one as Billy Bones.

“Fuck’s going on there?” she asked, baffled.

Thomas shared her bafflement. He rowed faster. She followed suit. As they caught up to the skiff Thomas saw the hard looks and tight faces of both Billy and the other crewman. Something was wrong.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

HMS Pearl

 

“Oh don’t be silly,” Emily said as James and the oarsmen helped her over the railing and back onto the Pearl.

“What business might you have amongst all those soldiers on the island? Even Geoffrey says they are rude and most brusque to navy men.”

James let out a hesitant laugh.

“Indeed, Mrs. Emily. But I’d like to get a land report from the officer in charge for Captain Hume all the same…”

Emily waved away his concern like shooing away a fly. It was a poor excuse for leaving, James knew, but Emily didn’t know that. He just needed to get back to the Aurelius as soon as possible. The sun was already low in the sky and come morning Mrs. Sutton and the rest of the Pearl’s crew would find themselves—with some luck—at the mercy of his warship.

“But when will you return?” she asked, looking at him with a pouting face somewhere between sorrow and put-on anger.

“I don’t know for certain…”

James trailed off as he caught sight of two officers moving towards him with purpose, their gazes less than friendly. One of them he remembered as Mr. Cunnings. He had been Emily’s other sexual pursuit. James frowned. He did not want to get engaged with the man over her.

It was the other officer beside him, however, who James found himself more concerned with. The man gave him a predatory smile.

“Excuse me, officer,” the man said as they came to stand in front of him. Their manner made Mrs. Sutton back away slightly.

“What is the problem, officers?” she asked with feigned confidence.

Cunnings looked at her coldly then turned back to James.

“Might we see your papers, sir?” he asked James.

James swallowed and dug into his coat. He’d kept Thomas's forged letter with him for just such an occasion. He handed it over.

“What is it?” he asked casually.

Cunnings looked over the letter and handed it to the other, as yet unnamed officer. He looked back up at James and James immediately felt recognized.

“Tell me Lieutenant Hamilton,” he said. “What is your rank and where do you berth?”

James swallowed again. Damnit. He looked from once officer to the other.

“Why is that of importance?”

“Because you look awfully familiar to me,” said the other officer, casting a glance to Cunnings. “You look as though you don’t belong here with us.”

James stiffened. Did they recognize James McGraw?

“In fact,” chimed in Cunnings, “Officer Caldwell here recognizes you from Williamsburg, would you believe that? He was on leave when Captain Flint and his men attacked that town. He even caught glimpses of the nasty pirate captain himself.”

James clenched his jaw. The two men crowded him, their hands hovering on the tops of their sword hilts. Emily backed further away, looking bewildered. She let out a nervous laugh.

“I hope you’re not both suggesting that Lieutenant Hamilton is this Captain Flint?”

Neither man acknowledged her. James held their gazes. This was over with. 

His hand dropped to his sword hilt and as soon as it did both officers pulled out their own swords. James jumped back and out of the way as they attacked. He spun around and pulled out his sword, steel clashing against steel as he blocked their blades. Shouts from other crewmen carried over the deck. He tried to get back to the railing. Perhaps he could at least jump overboard and escape in the water, but by the time he had maneuvered himself around the skilled advances of the other officers more were swarming the deck towards him.

“Drop your sword! Cease and desist!” came a cry.

James would do neither. He lunged at Caldwell, managing to cut him across the cheek when Caldwell’s footing proved too slow. The moment that happened he heard the gun go off. It blew a hole through his sleeve. The click of more pistols being cocked finally halted his attack.

“Stop there, or the next bullet goes in you.”

James turned to the source of the words. The man’s uniform told him it was the Pearl’s captain. A group of at least twelve men moved in to surround him, all armed. Silently cursing all of them, James dropped his sword.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The Marcus Aurelius

 

Thomas stared dumbly at John Silver. The news had momentarily shocked him. He needed clarification.

“What do you mean ‘they discovered him?’ Did they arrest him? Did they shoot him? How the hell did they find him out?”

John and Billy looked helplessly at him. Thomas clenched his jaw together and fought down the rising panic. The three of them plus Anne stood tersely inside the captain’s cabin.

“I do not know for certain,” said Silver slowly. “As I said, I heard the shot but from the Pearl’s position it was impossible to see the main deck over her quarterdeck.”

“He’s alive,” Billy cut in abruptly. “You know that.” He eyed Silver, then Thomas and lastly Anne. “We all know that. No way they’d kill him without Hume’s orders, and Hume isn’t even on board. They’ll be holding him somewhere below.” 

Silver nodded. He looked pointedly at Thomas as if asking him to accept this as fact. Thomas did his best to steady his breathing before replying.

“Very well. Now how to we get him off?”

“Tuh,” said Billy, snorting. “No chance.”

“There has to be a way,” said Thomas firmly.

“Not without completely ruining our entire plan, there isn’t,” retorted Billy. Thomas felt his anger rising.

“You cannot know that, and we must rescue him before Hume is sent word he is on that ship…”

“Hume will try an’ get him to talk,” said Anne. “And even I know the navy’s not above usin’ torture to do it.”

“Flint won’t tell them anything,” Silver said flatly. “If I know him at all, he will never bow in the slightest to England.”

Thomas knew that to be a grave understatement.

“Can we please get back to how we are going to rescue him,” he asked, not bothering to hide his impatience.

Billy sighed and turned away from them, arms fluttering at his sides.

“We will think of something,” said Silver. “But I cannot delay firing at the Pearl another day. With Flint aboard they may decide to move their position, take him to Hume on the other side of the island where we are not.”

“Or bring him ashore,” said Billy. “For a swift, bullshit trial and then see him swinging as a warning to the rest of us.”

Thomas clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“Then you had better come up with a plan before that happens, Mr. Bones!”

“Gentlemen, please,” said Silver loudly.

Billy fixed him with an irritated stare. They all fell silent, and Thomas became acutely aware that within this room were all the people who knew—more or less—about his true relationship with James. Billy had been the first. He needed to be thinking with a clear head. When had he lost the ability to hide his emotions towards James? 

He again forced down his panic and the uncouth way it had of making him speak without thinking.

“I’m sorry, Billy. I just…”

He stopped himself. ‘I just cannot bear the thought of losing him…again’ was the rest of the sentence he could not finish. He didn’t need to. Billy’s dark eyes softened. 

“I know,” he replied.

Anne turned and abruptly left them.

“Where are you going?” Silver yelled.

“To tell Vane,” she said. “I might have an idea.”

***


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Anne leaves for the Ranger, Thomas and Silver have a talk about James over some rum. Meanwhile, James is taken prisoner and is treated brutally.
> 
> SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING guys...I put James through some seriously nasty stuff in this chapter and this chapter ends angsty so be warned! But of course everything will turn out okay and revenge will be had.

Anne left in a skiff, bound for the Ranger as night settled in over the harbor. The HMS Pearl had grown quiet. She remained firmly anchored where she was, with no indication that she would be moving anytime soon. Silver doubled the watches to see that she stayed that way, wanting to know the minute there was any unusual activity spotted from the Pearl or any other ship in the area.

Thomas found the Pearl’s unchanged behavior and the fact that Hume simply continued to circle for the billionth time equally unnerving. He’d managed to do nothing but worry himself invisible trenches up and down the length of the Aurelius all evening, staring out at the ship that held James captive and driving himself half mad with thoughts of torture. Damn Anne for having even mentioned such a thing, though in the end he knew he would have thought of it as well. He supposed, in her own way, she had been trying to impart the importance to Silver and Billy of getting him out of there. After all, without James Nassau’s pirate force would be considerably weakened and all their plans rendered considerably weaker as well.

Thomas had finally returned to the captain’s cabin some time after dark, tired of wondering the ship. He thought perhaps a book might still his troubled thoughts but instead he found Silver sitting behind the captain’s desk, indulging in one of James's rum decanters. Silver motioned for him to come in, offering him a glass. Thomas knew he should decline. He had been doing well at not overindulging, thanks in no small part to James. He sighed miserably. There was no getting through this night with any sleep anyway. More than likely he’d just end up having nightmares. 

A book or a drink; a distraction was a distraction.

He accepted the offer, sitting down across from Silver, who poured him a glass.

“She’s been gone for three hours,” said Thomas, referring to Anne.

Silver nodded. “That bodes well, I’d say.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. It means they’re coming up with something.”

“Do you think they’ll torture him?”

“I suppose it’s a possibility. It all depends, however, on the crew, on the captain, on Hume’s sense of morality.”

“Morality is a feeble thing men use as it suits them,” said Thomas. He picked up his glass for the first time and took a long swallow. Silver said nothing. His deep blue eyes considered Thomas, rueful smile gracing his lips.

“Did you learn that from the great Marcus Aurelius?” he asked after a long beat. It did not sound like sarcasm to Thomas, only an honest question.

“In part,” he replied. “That’s all the Greek philosophers wrote about, you know; the morals of men and how men should and should not behave. The whole of our society is based upon them.”

“I vaguely recall learning that while at the orphanage,” said Silver, turning his chair sideways and leaning back into it. A faraway look came to his eyes. Thomas looked down into his glass and gently swirled its contents around.

“Did you grow up there?” he asked.

Silver looked up, the faraway look gone. “Yes. It was better than being on the streets I suppose, though not by much. Looking back, it all seems relevant. That place could be as brutal for children as this one is for grown men.”

“It is always cheaper and more convenient to be brutal than it is to be kind,” said Thomas.

Silver looked at him with a mild surprise, then snorted.

“God, you are like no one I’ve ever met,” he quipped. “I think I see why he likes you.”

Now it was Thomas's turn to laugh. Silver raised a brow.

“Am I wrong?”

“No John, you are not. You are, in fact, exactly right. You have a kind of perceptiveness about you that is unusual, especially among so many un-educated and rough men. James sees it. It’s one of the reasons he’s so wary of you, I think.”

“Ha. If by ‘wary’ you mean he is completely untrusting of me at every turn and often turns into an asshole, then yes, I suppose I agree with that.”

His light, matter-of-fact tone made Thomas laugh again. He was beginning to feel the liquor inside him. 

“James does not trust easily,” replied Thomas. “But when he does it is with his entire being. But more to the point, it is because of what happened to him, getting tossed out of the navy, that he is the way he is.”

The words slid out of him like butter. It was much easier to talk with the rum. Everything was simpler and made sense.

“But he trusts you,” said Silver.

“Yes.”

Although he shouldn’t, because I’m the reason he’s on that ship in the first place, and I’m the one who asked him to fuck a strange woman and to betray Miranda’s memory.

He kept the thought tucked away and decided to stick with the ‘yes.’ Easy. Simple.

“He’s shown you more care and concern than I thought him capable of when I first met him,” said Silver. “He’s somehow…calmer since you came along.”

Thomas looked down at his drink again and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you for noticing.”

“He loves you.”

Thomas closed his eyes. 

“Yes.”

“We will get him back. I promise.”

He opened his eyes and looked across the desk to Silver, who wore the look of determination to back up his claim, empty though the promise was.

“I appreciate that, but you cannot know that.”

“I’m learning about trust myself,” he replied smoothly. “How to trust a crew, how to trust the most unlikely of people, even Anne Bonny and Charles Vane. I trust they will come up with something we haven’t. You should too.”

Thomas took another long drink, this time grimacing as it burned down his throat.

“And what of Captain Flint’s crew?” he asked. “Will they still trust him when they find out what he is?”

There wasn’t a need to clarify his meaning; Silver knew all too well, yet he hesitated in answering.

“You are still concerned about it, yes?” asked Thomas.

John dropped his laidback posture and sat up straight in the chair, pouring a touch more rum into his glass.

“I am. And I’m guessing you agree with me, that it is only a matter of time until the crew figures it out.”

“Tell me, Mr. Silver, what are the chances most of the men will be willing to overlook it? Will they be able to see that it does not matter where they are concerned?”

John sighed, racking a hand through his thick curls.

“I believe so, yes. But you should know Billy has been paying careful attention to what the men are saying and there is a growing number of them angered and opposed to it, and to him. Billy’s certain they’ll want to put it to a vote.”

Thomas blinked. “You mean whether or not to keep him as captain?”

Silver’s eyes turned somber.

“I dearly hope that’s the case, but there’s a possibility they’ll vote whether or not to even keep him alive.”

***

 

He is chained outside again, this time in the north of the courtyard. He doesn’t care where they put him as long as he has access to the dirt. He digs up a twig and uses it to shovel the dirt around. He finds himself focusing hard on the dirt today. His morning did not go so well. He keeps tonguing his split lip and touching the swollen bruise forming on the corner of his mouth.

“The sea is calm today.”

He looks to the chained man to his right. It is James. He’s wearing dirty and ragged black pants with bare feet, his shirt torn and tattered.

“Oh?” says Thomas. James nods across the courtyard.

“Yes. But it’s about to become rough.”

Thomas follows his gaze and sees a woman being abused by the officials. There are three of them, three brutish men pulling at her and shoving their fingers up her skirt. She is crying and pleading with them but they only laugh. Then she breaks free of them. Thomas watches as she half runs, half staggers in his direction. He pushes his back against the post, hoping she will change direction.

She runs and stumbles into James's arms instead. She pleads with him to help her.

“You mustn’t,” says Thomas.

James ignores him as before, and looks pitifully at the woman and tries to calm her.

“I will help you,” says James.

Thomas grows panicked. The three officials are yelling at James, charging across the courtyard towards him. James stands.

“No. You cannot,” cries Thomas. He tries to stand as well but finds he cannot. His chains are too short. Desperately he pulls at them, reaching for James. James ignores him, holding the woman in his arms as the men reach him. They tear the woman away from him. One of them pulls a baton out from his belt and starts to beat James with it. Thomas cries out. He must stop this, he must, but he cannot…

Thomas snapped awake as the darkened cabin slowly came into view, hidden behind the violent images of the nightmare. He sat up in his hammock and focused on his breathing, trying to calm down. 

“Damnation,” he muttered. His hands were shaking. He told himself it must have been the drinking he’d done. Too much brandy or champagne in the past had often brought on strange dreams. Fine. It was over now. Only…

He glanced up to the empty hammock in front of his and sighed miserably. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

HMS Pearl

 

They took—or rather wrestled—him down into steerage. Instead of a typical steerage room, however, James discovered that the Pearl’s steerage had been enlarged, cutting into the room underneath the forecastle to accommodate a prison cell.

The extra space was separated from the rest of the room by iron bars and a barred door from top to bottom. There was no one else in it, only a couple of crates and some rats. The Pearl’s captain had followed them down. 

“Cover his face,” he said, and one of the officers produced a black cloth. When he struggled against his captors as they pulled it over his head he received a hard punch in his stomach, doubling him over and allowing them to slip the thing over his head. Everything went dark but he could feel the rope come around his neck to hold it in place. His wrists were bound behind his back. They roughly shoved him forward and James heard the cell door clang shut and lock behind him. He turned towards the sound, assuming the captain was standing there.

“You can give Hume the same sentiment I gave him before. He can go fuck himself,” said James, all but spitting out the final words.

He smiled when he thought he heard at least one of the men snicker before the captain snapped at them. There came no other reply. He could only listen as their boot steps faded away and up the stairs. He didn’t know if he was alone or there were guards posted. With nothing but a slit for his nose he was deprived of sight and some mobility. He backed up until he hit the wall, then slid over to his left where he’d seen the crate. He tripped over its edge, cursing and stumbling. There came no response or sound of another person so he assumed he was alone. He sat down on the crate and tried to rub the cloth off his face on the wall. It only succeeded in making him angrier. He stopped and instead tried the bonds on his writs with the same fruitless result. Fuck.

Of all the possible times he’d worried over being identified, he’d automatically thought someone would recognize James McGraw, never Flint. He’d been in the navy practically his entire life; to think that some random chance of fate would have someone see him as the pirate and not the navy man was beyond ironic. It caused the burning sensation to rise in him. This time he nurtured it, let it grow until it became the dangerous beast he’d kept chained for so long.

He tried again at the cloth over his head. It was hot and suffocating. He rubbed his face against the wall until it hurt but the rope held it firmly in place. Fine then. He’d let out his rage on the next person who entered the cell.

It wasn’t a long wait.

He figured it had been less than an hour since his capture. He heard the boot steps descending down from the hatchway, just one pair. Then the turning of the key in the heavy padlock. He stood, bracing himself. No voice yet. A hand gripped his arm painfully and jerked him away from the wall.

“On your knees.”

The voice was deep and rough, the accent spoke of an un-educated man. When James didn’t immediately comply with his request his knees were knocked out from behind him, forcing him down. He tipped over and fell painfully onto his elbow but was quickly jerked up to his knees. There was fumbling about the rope at his neck, then the cloth was yanked off.

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the light. The room was dimly lit but even a little light hurt after the inky blackness. The man that stood over him was a hulking figure, dressed not as a high-ranking officer but lower, perhaps a petty officer. James instantly detested him. He looked down at James with what could only be described as a leer; pale gray eyes chill. He bent down and grabbed the back of James's hair, jerking on it to pull his head back. James winced. The man bent down in his face. His breath smelled like mint and ale.

“Well you’re not so hard on the eyes, are you?” he said in that rough-hewn voice. The pale eyes racked over James's face in a way that made him feel violated. The officer leered again. 

“Always nice to have somethin’ to look at while you’re busy.”

Perhaps it was the tenor of the man’s voice, perhaps it was the knowledge James carried in the back of his mind about taboo naval practices coming to the forefront. Whatever it was, the man’s words made the snarling beast in his chest wither somewhat from fear. Another jerk on his hair.

“Now,” said the hulk, “you’re going to suck my cock until I come. And if you try to bite me, or quit, or do anything but suck it, I’m gonna blow your brains out. Understand?”

He let go of James's hair and gave his face a hard shove. James closed his eyes. No, no, no.

“Open your eyes.”

Slowly James did so as the hulk took off his belt and unbuttoned his fly. Gritting his teeth, James made it halfway into a standing position and attempted to scramble past him. The hulk reached out and easily threw him down to the ground. James landed hard on his arm, wincing. The hulk was already lifting him back to his knees. He pulled out a pistol and cocked it.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he said, pushing the end of the barrel against the side of James's head.

“Suck. My cock.”

A moan escaped the back of James’s throat.

 

When it was done James immediately turned and spat. That earned him a rough laugh and a hard knock from the butt of the pistol that made him see stars. The cloth was placed back over his head and secured with the rope. Then the hulk left him, boots ascending the stairs. James collapsed on the hard floor. He desperately tried wiping at his mouth with his shoulder. He had no choice but to swallow whatever was left from the hulk. He listened to his own unsteady breathing for several minutes, then let a whimper escape him when he thought of Thomas. Jesus Christ, what had he done?

He crawled until he felt the wall again. Pressing against it, he moved to the right across the cell. Perhaps he could find something with his boot; anything left in the cell that he could brandish as a weapon—perhaps a fallen bolt from the ship’s construction or a pin, or…or…

Nothing. His boots came across nothing but the soft wisps of displaced straw and the edges of the crate. He could kick it, he decided. Next time the cell door opened he would kick the crate into the officer to buy him just enough time…

He sighed. No. Even if he made it out of the cell that was no help at all. They’d simply throw him back in.

He collapsed against the wall again, feeling the crushing weight of defeat slowly envelop him. He would either be tried and hanged here or perhaps in the American colonies, or his death would be delayed until Hume could take him to England.

Last time he’d been captured in Charlestown he had prepared himself for his death as he had so many times after becoming a pirate. But now…

Now there was Thomas to consider, and the mere thought of simply giving up to leave Thomas bereft and adrift without him was too much.

Maybe he would try the crate idea just for spite.

 

The man returned the next hour.

Once again there was the single set of boots, the turning of the key. Once again James was jerked out into the middle of the floor, cloth removed. The hulk was already hard this time. James turned his head in disgust and it took several threats and beatings with the pistol before he would comply. The barrel remained pressed against his temple the entire time and he had no doubt that this man would not hesitate to shoot him.

It took forever this time. He jaw grew sore. The hulk berated him, told him to do better, thrusting himself inside James's mouth. James squeezed his eyes shut so hard he saw orange and then black behind his eyelids. At last it was over. This time he felt pure revulsion rising from his stomach. The hulk picked up the cloth. James turned and forced the revulsion from him, vomiting all over the floor before the cloth was put on.

“You damn bloody bastard,” said the hulk. “Well I ain’t cleanin’ it up. You’ll just have to deal with it until one of the mates comes down here. Ha! Come here.”

And the cloth was forced back on him, along with another beating to encourage him not to vomit next time. When the man had taken his leave James was left on the floor, curling into himself to help combat the pain of the punches and kicks he’d received. Dimly he heard the hulk’s voice yelling down to him from the stairs: “See you in an hour!”

 

He faded into some realm between wakefulness and sleep. Half-dreams came to him, seized his grip on reality and shook it lightly so that sometimes when he opened his eyes he felt the hard floor beneath him, smelled the drying vomit. Other times he opened his eyes and he was with Thomas, safe and warm.

All the time he was in darkness.

 

By the fifth time the hulk came to him he automatically used his imagination to picture other things, other places. He did what was forced from him but forced his mind to disconnect from it:

He climbed aboard the Spanish warship with Vane, ordering his men to be freed…He gently handed Silver a cup to drink out of as he woke after his amputation…

He cupped Miranda’s cheek and told her ‘Things will get better here. I promise.’

He put on his lieutenant’s uniform for the first time, allowing himself a moment of vanity before the mirror…

He stared at Thomas as he stood in the door to the guest house on Lord Kinnmore’s plantation and nearly wept from joy…

Another pistol whipping brought him back to his senses. He was sent reeling back against the wall and the cloth was put on again. Then the hulk left. One hour. One hour. One fucking hour. What time was it? He didn’t know. His chest began to heave. He gritted his teeth and fought against the onslaught of feelings but to no avail.

“Thomas, please forgive me,” he choked out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly long wait. I'm super tired just now, so short and sweet: This is the rescue chapter, where Thomas, Anne, and Billy do some stealth swimming and board the HMS Pearl. :) Thomas gets his first true taste of violence. Rapist Officer gets what's coming to him. Injured James is of course impossible and stubborn to deal with.

The Marcus Aurelius

Sixth hour

 

Anne Bonny leaned against the starboard gunwale, frowning at the burning cheroot between her fingers. Thomas came to stand beside her. Around them the ship was quietly abuzz with activity as a group of seven men chatted with the rest of the crew, double checking their weapons and awaiting the captain’s final words. The night was calm but overcast; rain sprinkled down intermittently but several of the men, including Joji and DeGroot, said a larger storm was developing.

Anne looked at Thomas before tossing the half-smoked cheroot overboard.

“Don’ see how he likes the fucking things. Tastes like sucking on ash and tar.”

“I believe that is exactly what they are, my dear,” Thomas said with forced mirth. Then, in a somber tone, “Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

Her question stilled him for a moment. He gazed out at the seemingly serene HMS Pearl. There was a great inner turmoil going on in her depths, he knew. Whatever James was suffering, there would be men who were going to pay for it with their lives. Some of those lives would be taken by him. 

He had little problem with that at the moment.

“I am ready,” he said. “I’ve killed before.”

“Like this?”

He thought before answering. He was getting better at deciphering all the layers to Anne’s overtly short speeches. “Not quite like this, no. But killing is killing.”

“Then let’s get on with it, then,” she said, nodding towards John Silver as he came down from the quarterdeck where he’d been talking with DeGroot and Billy. The men quieted their chatter. Silver approached the special group of seven they had been hovering around. Billy joined them. Thomas watched as Silver looked at each of them in turn.

“Everyone ready?”

They all nodded solemnly and muttered out ‘yea’s.’ 

“Then I will see you back here in short order, with the captain. Remember, this rests entirely on your ability to move quietly. There’s not enough of you to overtake the ship if you’re discovered too soon. Do this right and we’ll have control of the Pearl without a single cannon being fired.”

Silver turned to him, eyes asking him the same question. Thomas nodded, hand moving to cover the hilt of the dagger in his belt.

The temporary captain of the Aurelius had done a fine job on selling the plan to the crew. Always with a mind towards their ultimate goal, Silver’s suave speech was mostly about how advantageous it would be to be able to overtake the Pearl this way, saving them many things—ammunition, ship damage, and it would keep them from attracting the unwanted attention of the other British ships in the area. The men who volunteered for the mission would be well paid, he concluded, with extra shares from the money they would all save without worrying about repairs and the like. And of course, the risk to their lives would be greatly lessened this way. 

Thomas had listened while Silver had spoke at length on this final point, with a passion and rhetoric that rivaled Thomas's own.

Now, here he was, getting ready to climb down the side of the ship to save James, and all thanks to John Silver. Earlier Thomas had decided in the event that he did not return he ought to thank Silver.

“Just doing my part,” Silver had replied with a shrug and a whimsical smile.

“It is a large part, and I will not forget it. I’ll make sure James knows about it as well. For the sake of garnering you support in your captaincy,” Thomas had added on smoothly. Silver had simply nodded, deep blue eyes sharp. They both knew that was not why Thomas would not forget the kindness, but here, amongst the men, it was best left unsaid.

Then Silver had offered his hand. Surprised, Thomas had shook it and looked at him. Silver’s eyes shined with…appreciation?

The recent memory ebbed away and he, Anne, Billy and the other seven men began their climb down the portside of the ship, using the well-placed grappling hooks and ropes Billy had secured. The weather was helping them instead of hindering them for a change—the overcast sky meant no moonlight or starlight. Combined with the dark clothing they all wore it effectively made them invisible to the unsuspecting eye.

The water surprised Thomas with its warmth as he quietly slipped into it. He still had a few things to get used to this far south; he’d been expecting the cold, nighttime temperatures of England but they were not to be found. That boosted his confidence and he fell in to swimming with the others. Anne, he noted happily, remained by his side for the duration of the swim. She’d shed her coat and hat, wearing only a single shirt, breeches, and single belt like the rest of them.

The swim did bring back flashes of his and James's tormented journey to Santa Ybel and how tiring it had been to row that boat. His arms and legs grew fatigued again, yet this time not as quickly. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw Billy far ahead of the others, swimming as though he were born for it. 

They made it to the stern of the HMS Pearl without being seen.

Billy waited for the last of them to swim up to the ship’s rudder underneath the stern windows. He kept his voice a whisper, breaking them up into four groups of two and sending two groups on each side of the ship to spread out down her length and then climb her.

He, Billy, and Anne followed a gruop behind the starboard side, travelling all the way down to below the forecastle until Billy signaled. Then he shook the bosun’s whistle around his neck and blew it. It sputtered out water, but the short, high-pitched shrill it made came out and echoed. Immediately Thomas saw the men along the side begin their climb. The whistle had stirred the crew on the Pearl and he just barely hear them talking. 

Before the Pearl’s crew could even be certain what they’d heard, however, it was too late.

Thomas and Anne swiftly followed Billy up the side of the ship, using her gun ports and natural design to find their footing. Thomas focused furiously on what he was grabbing onto. Billy had made it quite clear how easy it could be to slip and then fall back into the water, costing them time.

Thomas was nearly at the railing when the ambush happened. He glanced over as the last of the crew came over the side, as silent and stealthy as ever. He heard daggers and blades being unsheathed, a few muffled cries, and then some smaller, less distinguishable sounds but ones which Thomas instantly recognized as throats getting slit.

He remembered James slitting the throat of the young officer on the Scarborough, right after he himself had suffocated his partner.

Thomas didn’t let the memories frighten him this time; he drew on them to help him focus as he climbed over the railing with Anne and Billy, soaking wet. The crew had dispatched nearly all the men who had been topside. They lay strewn across the deck, many of them surrounded by growing pools of blood. A few still remained alive, attempting to cry out or get to pistols. Anne and Billy quickly jumped in and finished them.

Thomas saw the figure approaching from beside the door to the officer’s quarters closest to him. He turned and leap toward the man, dagger coming out and finding its way haphazardly into the man’s throat. Thomas turned his head as he pushed it down, fighting against the pressure of the man desperately flailing against him.

He let the limp body quietly slide down him and to the floor. The dagger resisted being pulled out, making a sucking sound as it did so. He re-joined Billy and Anne. Already the crew was spreading out again, covering all the doors and hatchways. The three of them descended the stairs to the gun deck. Thomas had not the slightest clue where they were going exactly. He knew the general layout of ships, but even so the near darkness disoriented his senses and he stayed closed behind Billy, who seemed to know exactly where he was and where he was going.

They crossed the gun deck to the second set of stairs and followed them down. Thomas heard the cocking of pistols.

“Who goes there? Stay where you are!”

Anne leapt over the stair railing and on top of the man Thomas had not even seen, knocking the pistol out of his hands. Thomas whirled to his front, where another officer was coming at him with a raised saber. He swung it horizontally as though he meant to behead Thomas and Thomas ducked, hearing Billy curse. He heard blade strike blade as he scrambled off the stairs and rose to stand behind the officer who was engaged with Billy. Billy, who had the higher ground, lifted a leg and kicked the officer off the stairs. He went careening back towards Thomas. Thomas dodged out of the way and jabbed his dagger into the man’s stomach below the breastbone. With an angry cry the officer grabbed Thomas unexpectedly by the shirt and raised his sword. Thomas caught him by the wrist.

A quick shadow came up behind the officer, slashing across his back three times. Blood splattered out and the officer finally fell. Anne stood behind him.

“You all right?” she asked.

He nodded. 

“Come on,” said Billy urgently from across the room. They followed him across what Thomas recognized as a mess hall, then to the galley which still smelled of that night’s supper. Another short flight of stairs brought them to an even darker room, lit with only a lantern. He heard a shuffling sound. Billy stopped them at the bottom of the stairs.

“Someone’s in here.”

“Come on, you bastard! Hurry it up!”

Thomas's heart jumped to his throat at the sound of James's voice, broken though it sounded. He moved quicker than Billy, carelessly crossing the room without looking and taking up the lantern.

“Thomas! Wait!”

He ignored the request, shining the light to reveal a barred-off section of the room, complete with a padlocked cell door. He squinted past the light and saw a huddled form on the floor against the wall, head and face completely covered with a cloth. Chilled sweat broke out over his forehead. What the fuck had they done to him? He pulled on the door, rattling it.

“We need a key.”

Billy pushed him aside and studied the cell. He pulled on the bars, then looked down at the clothed figure.

“Captain, is that you? Is there a key?”

The huddled form moved, scooting away from the sound of Billy’s voice and drawing his knees up closer to him. The movement was less like a normal man’s and so much like a frightened animal’s that white-hot, blinding rage boiled inside Thomas.

“Those fucking assholes, those damn savages,” he heard himself muttering. Anne was shaking his arm.

“Listen! The key must be on an officer.”

Thomas blinked, trying to listen to what she was saying past the rage. Billy was already checking the corpse of their attacker but with no luck. Then the hatchway creaked open and he jumped back to stand with Thomas and Anne. Despite the immediate threat, Thomas dared to turn and look back to James. There was a rope around his neck, holding the cloth in place. His hands were bound behind his back and his clothes were tattered.

He was aware of Anne and Billy saying something, leaving his side. He turned to see them engaged with the new intruder, a very tall, very broad officer with a stone-cold face. Time seemed to slow as sudden panic hit him like a cannon and he didn’t know what to do.

“The keys!” he thought he heard Anne say. That snapped him back into the present, and he saw here was a ring of skeleton keys dangling from the officer’s belt as he roared at Anne and Billy, throwing them around the small steerage room like ballast. Thomas steeled himself, eyes following every move the key ring made as the officer fought off his attackers.

Then Billy managed to send his boarding axe into the man’s thigh, leaving it there. Anne was quick to follow up with a piercing stab in his stomach even as he smashed her up against a wall. Thomas darted forward with his dagger and began sawing at the man’s belt from his other side. The man roared again, slamming Anne into the wall until she dropped her sword and then punching Billy hard enough in the jaw to send him stumbling backwards.

Thomas saw an opportunity. He wretched the axe out of the man’s thigh and sent it in again. It cost him a hard punch in the gut but the officer had weakened and sagged down on the floor. Thomas wrestled with his belt, fingers fumbling to un-fasten it to procure the keys. He did at last, yanking them off and rushing back to the cell door.

Behind him he heard Billy get back up and finish off the officer, calling him a bloody bugger. Thomas desperately went through the keys, of which there were six or seven. The fourth one worked, clicking inside the pad lock and granting him entry. Thomas swung the door open and rushed over to James. He crouched down beside him and touched the rope around his neck, intending to remove it, but as soon as he did James flinched away from the contact as though he’d been struck. 

Thomas's heart broke. He swallowed, feeling the tumultuous rage and sorrow inside him building again, but now was not the time and he forced it all down.

“James, listen to me. It’s me. It’s Thomas. We’re getting you out of here.”

“Thomas?”

The word was spoken with complete shock.

“Yes,” Thomas said, softer this time. He touched the rope again and this time he was allowed to remove it. He pulled the cloth over James's head and discarded it. Then he cut the rope that bound his wrists. James winced, squinting and blinking furiously. His sea green eyes focused on Thomas. 

At a glance Thomas saw the side of his head was bleeding and the left side of his jaw was bruised and swollen. 

“Thomas,” he said again, the knot appearing between his brows.

“James, I need you to stand,” Thomas said, not looking directly at him for fear of losing what little composure he had. Billy appeared at his side. 

“Come on, captain.”

Together they gingerly helped James stand. He quickly leaned up against the back wall for support. Thomas saw he’d been beaten in more places than just his face.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” came the hoarse reply.

He and Billy each took an arm and helped him out of the cell. Anne waited for them at the stairs, running up and ahead of them at each new corner or hatchway and making sure the way was without danger.

When at last they emerged onto the gun deck they were greeted by the rest of the crew. Billy asked for a brief report. Two men dead, most of them injured but not critically. The captain had been subdued but not killed, as per Silver’s orders, and all others dead.

There was also report of a single woman found on board, left alive with the captain but bound and incapacitated.

The ship was theirs.

It was a victory that gave Thomas little cheer. He couldn’t give a damn about the ship or anything else at the moment. He only cared about the man hanging limply from his arm.

“We need to get him back, quickly,” he said.

Billy ordered the remaining crewmen to man the HMS Pearl for the time being. Then he and Anne secured one of the ship’s long boats. Thomas and Billy helped James inside and they set off for the Marcus Aurelius.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The Marcus Aurelius

 

James sat on the edge of his hammock and grudgingly allowed Dr. Howl to look over his wounds, insisting he was more or less fine. Dr. Howl treated a few lacerations across his ribs as well as his head wound, which he paid extra attention to, mumbling about the possibility of a concussion. Then he remarked he thought he detected some cracked ribs but nothing broken. He told James he needed plenty of rest. James finally gave him a firm thank you, which set him on his way.

All the while he glanced over as Thomas remained a silent observer, leaning against the bookcase in his usual spot. Once Dr. Howl left Thomas pushed himself off the case and took up James's chair, moving it to sit down in front of the other man. James stood up too quickly and instantly regretted it, wincing and grabbing at his side. Thomas left the chair and caught a hold of James, holding him up.

“I’m fine, Thomas, I just—”

His words withered away when Thomas enveloped him in an embrace, mindful of his ribs. He turned his head so that his lips tickled against James’s neck. James sighed and let his muscles relax, melting into the arms that held him. He kissed Thomas's neck. Oh, thank God, he’d been returned to this.

“I’m all right,” he said, much gentler this time. Thomas finally pulled away from him to look at him.

“I didn’t know if I was going to see you again,” he said in a rough whisper. He raised a hand and pushed back James's mussed hair from his face, his hair tie long since gone. James let himself become lost in those eyes and their wondrous depths. Then he tensed as those sapphire eyes moved to his lips—and he raised a finger in-between so that Thomas ended up kissing it instead. James swallowed hard. Jesus, how he wanted to feel those lips…But no, he would not allow Thomas to kiss him just yet; he couldn’t. The revolt of his recent sins still clung to him, making him feel dirty inside. He backed up and sat back down on the hammock. 

“What is it?”

He could hear Thomas's concern laced in his voice.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”

He glanced up, relieved to see Thomas's immediate concern fading. 

“Of course. Stay here, then, and I’ll see what they’re discussing outside.”

“No, I should be there,” said James, rising again. “We’ve got to figure out our next move, now that we’re one ship stronger…”

Thomas forcefully pressed down on James's shoulder.

“You are not leaving. You look like shit and you need to rest, or you won’t be any good to anyone.”

As always James's bull-headed stubbornness dissolved completely in the face of his significant other’s own resolve. He remained on the hammock, letting out another heavy sigh. He did not want to be left out of anything, even the smallest decision. Thomas was not the only person to have told him he was too controlling of things, but it was hard not to be.

After all, he’d gotten them all this far with the same doggedness, hadn’t he?

Thomas attempted to assuage his fears.

“I assure you Mr. Silver has proven himself more than capable of handling things. Besides, there are Vane and Rackham to help out as well. A most interesting mix of ingredients in this fleet of ours, isn’t it?”

James gave him a lop-sided grin, shaking his head.

“It’s amazing we’ve made it this far,” he replied dryly.

“Rest,” said Thomas, nodding at the hammock. James swung his legs over and adjusted himself into it. Once he had he found himself truly tired, after all. He didn’t care that his boots were still on but Thomas did. He pulled them off and sat them down under the hammock. His eyes roamed over James's form.

“I suppose this is the end of your lieutenant’s uniform. It’s filthy, and I certainly won’t be sewing it back together.”

James forced a weak smile. He gazed into Thomas's face, allowing a moment to drink him in. He was so very fucking grateful to have him.

“I love you,” he said as his eyes grew heavy. He let them shut for a moment, then forced them open again. As his body finally relaxed in the soft cloth of the hammock he felt beyond weary. Thomas crouched down beside him, hand covering his.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

He struggled to keep his eyes open.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For coming up with the idea about Mrs. Sutton. I’m sorry it even crossed my mind.”

He was confused. Why would Thomas apologize? They’d gotten through it, hadn’t they? Or was Thomas more upset about it than he had let on? 

“But it worked,” he mumbled out. He couldn’t think anymore on it. His thoughts were like jelly as sleep crept up on him.

“I’m still sorry.”

He felt Thomas shift and opened his eyes just enough to see that he was moving to kiss him again. James turned his head so that his lips landed on his cheek instead. Then everything faded to black.

 

He awoke once, bothered by cramped up limbs that needed moving. He turned to lie on his side and opened one eye. The cabin was empty, though he thought he could hear several muffled voices speaking on the quarterdeck above him. The scent of candle wax was heavy…

He startled. He needed to get up there, to know what they were talking about. He started to lift himself up but it was no use and his body refused to cooperate. His ribs and head ached and he was sore all over and simply exhausted.

He thought of Thomas's arms wrapped around him, flesh against flesh. The pain from his wounds faded and he drifted off again.

 

When he next woke he was confused. The light coming in through the stern windows was dim and gray. Was it morning or evening? He lay there for a few minutes before forcing himself up. Everything still ached. He moaned, taking off his soiled under shirt and tossing it aside. He looked down at himself as he rose. He’d had worse injuries, to be sure, but these smaller bruises and cuts seemed to be everywhere, covering his skin like a patchwork quilt.

Sharp and vivid images of the hulking officer came to him then, of the pain he’d inflicted with his fists and boots and pistol, and ultimately, with his manhood.

James forced them back into the recesses of his mind with so many other things he did not wish to remember. That part of his mind must be nearly full by now, he mused darkly. It was stock piled like the twisted version of a child’s stuffed toy chest, full of broken and unwanted things.

He gazed out the windows. The sun was setting, he was fairly certain. He limped over to his sea chest and pulled out a fresh pair of clothes, gingerly putting them on over his bruises. There was a knock at the doors.

“Come.”

It was Thomas and Silver. When they saw him they both seemed to wince.

“You’re a pretty picture,” said Silver, ghost of his old, impish self coming out as he gazed at Jame’s body, then face.

James hadn’t bothered looking in the mirror yet, though he knew his jaw was more swollen than before and he still had his head wound bandaged. He tugged down his shirt.

“Thank you,” he said flatly, frowning. Silver shrugged. 

Thomas was giving him that pained expression that agreed with Silver.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

James licked his lips and took up the water pitcher that had been left on his desk. He took a long drink. 

“I’m fine,” he lied. He felt light-headed and weak. Thomas was frowning at him, worry lines etched on the corners of his mouth.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on or am I to start guessing?” he said with impatience lacing his tone.

“Yes well,” began Silver, standing behind a chair and gripping its back, “While you were out, the Ranger joined up with the Pearl and her scant but workable crew opened fire on the unsuspecting William, Hume’s second guard ship.”

James gaped angrily at him but Silver raised his palms and quickly continued.

“The engagement was successful, with no sign of the Scarborough or any other ship in the immediate vicinity. A careful reconnoiter was done, I assure you. So now we have a total of five powerful ships in our arsenal.”

At this Silver openly grinned at James, eyes dancing madly with his own success. When James finally trusted himself to speak, he asked, “And Hume?”

“He broke his circling and managed to evade us, thought not without taking some damage from Captain Rackham on board the Queen Anne. It seems Jack went ahead and moved his position further north, past Adelaide Village without telling anyone.”

Again, James opened his mouth to give his piece of mind and again Silver held up his palms.

“If I may continue,” he said cautiously. James knew his gaze was throwing daggers at Silver.

“Please do,” said James stiffly.

“It was sheer luck that he caught sight of Hume as he was making way due north, the only direction free of, well, us. Still, Jack says there wasn’t enough damage inflicted to make the Scarborough any less of a threat. He lost sight of her when a steady rain began. He thinks she’s making for the Bahama Islands to re-fit. No doubt Hume has already sent one of his pigeons out to the fleet behind Eleuthera. Now we just need to figure out how to deal with them.”

“We need to figure out how to get us back in control of the island first,” said James with some heat. He tried to ignore his light-headedness, wishing it would go away. He needed all his wits about him, needed to be strong for what was to come…and yet he felt anything but. What the hell was wrong with him? Perhaps he did have a concussion. He collapsed more than sat down in his chair. He also realized he was practically starving to death.

Thomas rose swiftly out of his seat.

“You are in no condition to issue any orders at the moment,” he said. “You need more rest.”

“I don’t. I’m fine. Quit squabbling about it.”

He’d said it with more venom than he had intended. It had the opposite effect on Thomas.

“Mr. Silver,” said Thomas coolly. “With Hume gone for the time being, is it safe to assume we may now freely go ashore, barring any threat from the soldiers?”

James gritted his teeth.

“Thomas, I’m not going ashore, and neither are you—”

To his absolute chagrin Thomas ignored him and raised his voice over him. 

“Mr. Silver, what do you say?”

John looked from Thomas to James and back again. He swallowed visibly, unsure just who he should be heeding in that moment. Finally he spoke to Thomas but his eyes never left James's.

“Yes, I would say the crossing is safe, although I still wouldn’t recommend a trip back there unless it’s absolutely necessary…”

Clever fucking Silver. James curled his lip.

“It is quite necessary,” said Thomas, his tenor leaving no room for argument. “The two of us will be going to the captain’s personal residence, unless you believe Captain Flint is fully capable of resuming command in his current state.”

“God damnit, Thomas!”

James meant to jump out of his chair, cross the room and look Thomas in the eye, but instead he stood and instantly regretted it. The room spun madly around him and he fell back into the bookcase. Its contents crashed down around him as he sunk down against it. He thought he heard Thomas curse loudly. He heard Dr. Howl’s name. James shut his eyes but that seemed to make it worse. 

“James, can you hear me? James?”

The voice was either close beside his ear or across the room, echoing to him. No, that couldn’t be right...

He struggled to stand. Strong arms gripped him. The room slowly began to right itself again. He half-walked, half leaned against Thomas to make it to the stern window where Thomas sat him down, back against the wall. He closed his eyes again and this time it offered him some relief. He heard Thomas speaking to him, his voice panicked. Then everything faded away into jagged dream pieces: 

 

**...Miranda’s soft doe eyes gazed at him from the other side of the table in his cabin. 

“You can defend that man. There are good arguments in defense of him.”

He knew it was true but he could no longer ignore the whole truth.

“For some of his deeds, perhaps for most of them,” he replied. “But there are some things that Captain Flint has done that cannot be defended…”

Some things…some things…

…Thomas's voice flowed like liquid as he warmed to the subject and its effect on him.

“I was going to agree with Aristotle when he said that the two elements are inextricably intertwined with one another, because more often than not, one requires the other in order to be complete.”

James turned towards Thomas with mock disapproval. 

“I hate it when you become overly romantic.”

Thomas laughed outright and joined him by the fire. He tossed the book in his chair. They stood a foot or so apart, both their features now molded into sharp and soft contrasts by the fire’s glow…

…He fucked her, sprawled out on the tavern’s bed. She reveled in his touch. It was too easy, or rather it would have been too easy if not for the flashes of Miranda he kept having as he looked down at her and imagined Miranda instead…**

_____________________________________________________________


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas finally start talking about what happened with Mrs. Sutton, Miranda, and (gasp!) their feelings. Thomas understands jealousy for the first time. And there's smut. And Thomas and Vane have a pleasant conversation over tea. No, not really. You'll have to read to find out their "conversation". ;p Hopefully all that's enough so I can be forgiven for what I put James through earlier. Comments always welcome. :)

Nassau

 

James opened his eyes. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and even then he lurched up in confusion. He was on a bed, not his hammock. He was in a room, on dry land. He recognized the chipping red paint over the stucco walls and the blend Spanish-English décor. A cup full of water and a plate of food sat on the end table beside him. All other thoughts were erased as he grabbed the plate and began eating the fresh chicken, bread, and grapes provided. Once he was done he washed it down with the cup of water. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, feeling immensely better. He couldn’t tell about his head, however. Slowly he swung his legs over the bed, noting that he was only in his breeches. Thomas, then.

He very carefully rose and stood there, waiting on the effects. The room did not tilt or spin. There was perhaps a touch of light-headedness but nowhere near what he had suffered in the cabin. He let out a sigh. His body still ached but that was less now also. He saw that most of the cuts and lacerations were starting to heal over. Jesus, how long had he been asleep?

He peeked under the two bandages Howl had dressed him with and decided to leave those on.

The room had two shuttered windows. He walked over to one and opened it, squinting in the light. Neither morning or evening but sometime in-between. It was the west side of Nassau. Main Street was not far away. Everything was wet from a fresh rain. The smell of rain and meat and manure came to him. He wondered how the hell they had dragged him up here without drawing the attention of the British. He turned as he heard the door open and close behind him.

Thomas was there with a bowl of water and more bandages. He walked over to the table and set them down. James turned from the window and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel better, before you ask,” he said. “Honestly this time,” he added. 

That earned him a smile.

“Good. Then you won’t mind if I change out your dressing.”

“Where are we? And how did I get here?”

“The Redfish. Again. And Silver and I dragged you up here, arms over our shoulders. We claimed you were passed out drunk. In this place that seemed to be a reasonable explanation.”

James let out a little huff of laughter. They fell into silence as Thomas peeled off his old bandages and cleaned the wounds. James winced occasionally and Thomas would pause, patient as ever with him. When the new bandages were on he attempted to clean the smaller cuts but James dismissed them. Thomas flopped down beside him on the bed.

“How did you ever manage to take care of yourself all these years?” he asked, exasperated. The answer came from both of them at the same time.

“Miranda.”

They both chuckled. James nodded towards the door.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing much has changed. As you know, the ships guarding the harbor are no longer a threat. The Ranger and the Queen Anne now watch over it. The main concern is the fleet behind the other island.”

“What of the Walrus?”

“Still in the bay, still laden with gold. Captain Rackham has been aboard, under close supervision from some of your key crew members, I’m told.”

“Good. I don’t trust that one as far as I can throw him.”

“Which seems to be the consensus. See?” added Thomas. “You’ve been away nearly three days and the world is still spinning.”

James gave a soft chortle, turning to look at him. “Only because you are still in it.”

Thomas's mirth faded and he looked at James with serious eyes.

“May I kiss you?”

James looked up sharply at him through his brows, then stood and grabbed his shirt from the corner of the bed.

“I know I’m not yet fit to command but I’m not an invalid. We need to stay focused on the mission, not one another.”

Thomas huffed out a sigh. “Back to this again, are we? James, just because you’re not falling into bookcases and you’ve eaten does not mean you’re leaving this room. You’re still concussed and you’re still weak. I can tell by looking at you.”

“I’m—”

“Fine? Stop saying that, damnit.”

James shut his mouth and closed his eyes. He was pushing Thomas too far, making him angry. It wasn’t his intention, but the truth was he wasn’t ready to discuss what had happened to him on board the Pearl and he knew that was exactly what Thomas would be pressing towards. He finished pulling on his shirt and moved to the other side of the bed and climbed back in.

“Just let me rest, then.”

He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see Thomas's reaction to that buffer. The deeper truth snaked its tendrils through his mind until they were firmly rooted in his conscious: That his dalliance with Emily and his forced interactions with the Pearl’s savage officer—no matter the circumstances—both felt like a betrayal, and he was terrified it meant that Thomas would love him less. A part of him knew that sounded ridiculous, but when he thought on it long enough it began to make sense. Thomas was angry, holding it back. It would turn into something that would grow and fester so that perhaps not now, but slowly, gradually, his love would fade.

He wanted to be left alone. He couldn’t think upon it with Thomas in the room. He rolled over on his side away from Thomas. Of course it didn’t work.

“You know avoiding me never works,” came the matter-of-fact reply from the other side of the bed. “You might as well roll over and speak to me.”

James gritted his teeth. Thomas didn’t understand, had no fucking idea the depths of his fears at that moment, of how the wall he’d constructed around himself—so very brittle now after the multiple times Thomas had torn it down—was on the verge of collapsing yet again against his will. 

“Miranda never irritated me this much when I said I wanted to be alone,” he said sharply.

“Probably because she was frightened of your temper. Luckily you’ve never scared me, James.”

“Perhaps I should. I could, you know,” he said, still facing the wall and speaking to Thomas as though he were a disembodied voice. “I could leap up from this bed with all the furies of Hell and scare the living shit out of you, the way I’ve done to countless sailors as I plunder from them, no matter my wounds.”

A short silence followed.

“I’ve seen your rage,” Thomas replied evenly. “Just because it has never been aimed at me does not mean I’ve not been privy to it.”

James sneered to himself, still staring at the wall. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Perhaps I want you to leave so that I can unleash it,” he said. He winced, immediately regretting the spiteful words. Before he could take them back, however, Thomas cut him off.

“I’m sorry.”

James blinked. He half twisted on the bed.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For what I’ve done, I apologize.”

The words were sullen and soft, all traces of his confidence gone and they made James finally sit up and twist on the bed so that he could see Thomas. He stood with the front of his shoulder leaning against the bedpost. When James turned Thomas looked away, sapphire eyes dull. He remembered Thomas had apologized to him earlier.

“Thomas, you haven’t done anything. What happened here, with Mrs. Sutton…”

“Yes, what happened with Mrs. Sutton,” Thomas cut in. “It worked, but I fear it came at too great a cost.”

Thomas left the bedpost and wondered further away from James. James's mouth went dry. He rose and crossed the room, wrapping his hand around the bedpost where Thomas's had been. He felt a new fear wind its way into his chest.

“What do you mean?” he asked, like walking over hot coals.

Back still turned, Thomas put his hands on his hips. “I mean I should have realized…that you would actually do it because…because I asked you to. And I had no way of knowing how it would affect me.”

James moved towards him, then thought better of it. He could read Thomas's body language as well as he could read a book and now it was telling him he needed space. When Thomas didn’t continue James took a deep breath and decided to plunge in.

“You need to know that it meant absolutely nothing to me, Thomas, I swear it. I swear it on Miranda’s memory that it didn’t.”

Something that sounded like a self-deprecating laugh came from Thomas. He turned at last.

“Yes, Miranda’s memory. We were thinking the same thing, I see. I thought about that while you were fucking her, you know. I could hear everything quite well, but I wanted to see. So I looked through that tiny hole. It was just large enough if I squinted.”

Thomas closed his eyes and tilted his head back and James saw the struggle even if it left him baffled.

“Thomas…”

“And what I felt…” said Thomas. He wiped a hand over his mouth and went to the window. James remained frozen to the spot, his heart about to pound its way out onto the floor. If it did he feared Thomas would turn and stomp on it until it was crushed. He had been right. Thomas was angry with him, perhaps truly did love him less now.

“Thomas…” he started again. No good. His voice cracked.

“I wanted you,” said Thomas. He leaned heavily over the table under the sill. James could not see his face. 

“I wanted you so badly when I saw her take you in her mouth, when you were kissing her, when you finally mounted her. I wanted you and yet I was so very angry at you…but not the way you think.”

At last he faced James again, expression thick with emotion. James couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like someone had wrapped it in dry leather and was pouring water over it to suffocate him.

“I thought you were betraying her memory, that—if she were alive—Miranda would be furious or sad at you, at us.”

He gave a bitter grin and looked down to the floor. James's legs felt weak and he had to sit on the bed again. He felt a panic attack coming on, sweat already breaking out on his face.

“But you did not,” said Thomas. James's head snapped up. Now he was even more baffled.

“What?”

“You did not betray her memory and that is not why I’m angry.”

Thomas sniffed, trying desperately to maintain his composure. He poured himself some water into James's cup and took a drink. His shoulders sagged and he looked defeated.

“Nevermind it,” he said heatedly. ”I’ll work it out. I just wanted you to know that I’m not angry with you.”

James's mind was spinning. There…the infliction he’d given to the word ‘angry.’ He had not imagined that. Thomas was hiding something from him, something he didn’t want to talk about. Of the two of them, that was rare indeed and could only mean that Thomas was, in fact, deeply frightened of something. He sensed he’d misread him. With a small measure of confidence returning James rose and walked over to him.

“No. Not nevermind. Tell me.”

“James, please.”

James took the crude clay cup from his hand and sat it down. He cupped the side of Thomas's face and forced him to look at him. Thomas's hand curled around his wrist and he pushed James's hand away. Now James could no longer decipher if Thomas was keeping him away because he really was angry or because of this other thing he refused to speak of. It was maddening, and it was certainly making him angry all over again. He steadied himself and took Thomas's face in-between both his hands, thumb caressing the creases beside his eye.

“Thomas.”

Ah, that always worked. He spoke his lover’s name with the same deep and raw sentiment Thomas had used on him so many times in the past to get him to listen and obey. He watched Thomas's Adam’s apple move as he swallowed thickly, both hands clutching to James's wrists but not pushing him away. His lips parted, his breathing shaky. His next words caught James off guard entirely.

“I think I know why you won’t let me kiss you,” he whispered. “And I don’t care.”

Before James could do anything to stop him Thomas assaulted his lips, pressing his own firmly against James's and mercilessly forcing his tongue inside his mouth. James whimpered and tried to pull away but Thomas's own hands now clasped his face, trapping them together. James moaned loudly. He planted his hands against Thomas's chest and pushed hard, finally breaking his mouth away just long enough to squeak out, “Stop, Thomas.”

Thomas didn’t stop. He pushed back twice as hard on him until James was up against the wall. He crushed the length of his body up against James's, momentarily distracting him so that his lips found James's once more. 

Fuck, no. You son of a bitch…! A litany of curses filled James’s head but his body still responded to his lover’s touch, until James had no choice but to give in and accept the wet, hot violation of his mouth.

When Thomas finally broke away to catch his breath the shame tumbled out James's mouth.

“He forced me, Thomas. On that ship, he forced me to take him inside my mouth, over and over! I tried to fight him but he held a pistol to my head. I tried, Thomas, I’m so sorry, I tried…”

He was rambling like a madman. He felt his legs nearly give out under him but strong arms snaked around his waist and held him against the wall. 

“You damn fool,” Thomas said in a raw voice. “You think I see you as less than because you were given a choice to commit a vile act or to choose sudden death? That is no choice at all! You damn fool.”

More kissing, less desperate this time but just as demanding. James's groin stiffened. Yet their conversation was not over. Thomas had masterfully avoided James's question but he would not do it again.

“Tell me,” James breathed out. He pushed Thomas back again. “Tell me why you’re scared.”

That stopped Thomas dead. He stilled, backing away from James just a fraction of an inch but still clinging to him. James knew he had hit the nail on the head.

“Because,” Thomas said slowly, staring at the single button on James's under shirt and fingering it. “Because I fucking need you to need me, and I thought…I thought, after I saw you with Emily, that perhaps you didn’t need me the way I thought you did, totally and absolutely. The truth is I was fucking jealous, ridiculously, irrationally, jealous. I hadn’t expected that. I didn’t know I was capable…”

The revelation liberated from his breast at last, Thomas fell against his shoulder, shuddering. James closed his eyes, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. His hand came up to wind its way through the thick yellow hair against his face. It stunned him, the depths of Thomas's love.

He gently pushed Thomas's arm until Thomas removed himself from James's shoulder to look at him.

“I do need you,” said James. “I could lay with a thousand other men or women and I would still feel empty without you. I need you. I need you right now.”

And he kissed Thomas with all the passion of a few minutes ago as he felt lust flare up from his gut and his groin over his own words. How could Thomas even think otherwise?

James pulled them to the bed and began stripping off his clothes. Thomas followed his lead and in short order they were both nude. Everything after that was a delightful mess of hot breath and sensitive skin and little whispered intimacies. James took Thomas's cock in his hand and stroked it eagerly, other hand cupping and fondling his scrotum. Thomas held either side of James's bare shoulders and watched him, humming softly in the back of his throat.

 

Thomas moaned under James's touches until he was magnificently hard. He kissed all around James's throat and neck, dragging and sucking and leaving marks despite James's half-hearted protests. When he flicked his tongue behind James's earlobe he felt James shudder. James pulled harder on his cock. Thomas took his hand to James's rear and gently traced the deep contour of his cleft, pushing his fingers against James's velvety rim. James whined, kissing his shoulder and pushing up on his scrotum until it forced a small noise from Thomas. 

Thomas inserted a finger and then another, carefully opening and widening James and feeling a rush of heat sweep over him as James contracted deliciously around him. James whimpered again and a grin broke out over Thomas's lips.

“You’re being awfully noisy,” he said, quite pleased.

James responded by capturing his lips with his own. Thomas hooked his fingers inside him and wiggled them back and forth. James inhaled sharply, his hands dropping from his cock and instead coming to grasp either side of Thomas's waist. He pushed his own erection into Thomas's.

Thomas withdrew his fingers and pushed James down on the bed. He made himself pause to enjoy the sight of James prostrate and wanting before him. James stretched out on the bed, gazing at him through heavy and nearly black eyes, lips parted. He raised his knees and spread his legs, writhing and reducing himself—unashamed—to a mass of lusting flesh before Thomas. 

Thomas's mouth went dry. He adored this, to see James exposing himself not physically to him with no care but mentally. In this moment James McGraw cared not about his sexuality or what people thought, only what Thomas thought. Tears came to his face again. Yes, James did need him. A fool indeed, he thought as he crawled on the bed, ready to give every last ounce, inch, and breath of himself to his lover.

James made another small sound of pleasure as Thomas slid up between his legs until their torsos were aligned and his cock pressed up against James's own. The dominating position sent a heady wave of possession through him as he began to grind his cock over James's.

“How much do you need me?” he whispered. He kept his face hovering inches over James's.

James looked up at him, the jade green of his eyes mere tiny rims around his dilated pupils. His breath grew unsteady.

“More than ever, more than fucking everything.”

“Mmm. That’s less than elegant rhetoric. Have I taught you so little?”

Thomas grinned down at him and slowly and gracefully humped him, hard cock crushing into James's and making them both hum in the back of their throats.

“You’re…a fiend,” James rasped out. He lifted his head and managed to capture Thomas's lips just once before Thomas pulled out of his reach. Thomas turned his palms into fists, bracing himself on either side of James's head. He pushed back so that he could lick and suck at the hard nipples of James's chest.

“You must be specific,” he said. “How much do you need me?”

He lifted his thighs up so that he could snake a hand in-between and grab hold of James's cock, rolling his thumb over his head. James's breath stuttered, eyes rolling up into his head. Thomas grinned. He was making it difficult for James to answer him in the way he wanted, but Jesus, it was worth it.

James swallowed quickly, lips parting again as he panted openly now.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I need you the way a desert needs water. Tuus sum.*”

And indeed, James was gazing up at him much like a desert in need of quenching as Thomas continued touching him. 

After another minute Thomas found could no longer keep James so strained, greedy and aching as he was for Thomas's touch. He bent down and engulfed James's mouth with his own, tongue worming its way deep inside him as he grabbed hold of his own cock and danced it along James's rim. Their lips parted long enough for them to shift lightly, until Thomas's crown was pressing inside him and James spread his hips to give him full access.

Thomas pushed himself inside, moaning and feeling pure lust burning in his stomach and chest and cock as James gasped and constricted around him, velvety muscles clamping over Thomas's cock.

Thomas let out an unsteady breath against James's lips and the moment turned crystal clear as they both stilled. Then James bucked up, eager for more of Thomas's touch as he grabbed Thomas's thighs and bent his legs so that his knees brushed up against his ribs.

Thomas moaned loudly. He braced himself on his forearms and began the dance, fucking gently into James. James closed his eyes and tilted his head back, utterly lost.

Thomas buried his head beside James's, occasionally planting soft kisses along his ear and cheek and neck. James cupped his palms against Thomas's buttocks, encouraging him.

Thomas lifted up so that he could reach back and grab James's leg, wrapping his arm under it and lifting it so that his hole was spread as wide as it would go.

“Huuh, fuck,” James whispered, wincing slightly. Thomas kept his pace the same, steady and slow, until James grew impatient.

“Harder,” said James.

The demand went straight to Thomas’s cock and he obliged, moving less of his whole body and instead focusing on his hips, thrusting them harder and moaning when James contracted against his cock. A wave of heat rolled over him as the pressure mounted. Dear God, this was pure bliss!

“Fuck me,” moaned James, placing a palm flat against his chest. “Just fuck me.”

Those jade-black eyes, half-lidded, staring up at him brazenly as he spoke the words. Thomas bit his bottom lip until it hurt.

“Oh James…”

And he obeyed, slamming his cock into James up to his scrotum and eliciting all manner of sounds from the other man, who writhed underneath him, head turning sideways and cheeks flushed. 

Thomas dipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut as the pressure became overwhelming. Lust sizzled through him as James's warm and tight body contracted around his cock. He opened his eyes and pressed the length of his body against James's, leaving room enough when James reached between them and began pulling on himself. Thomas focused his entire being on fucking him, burying his head beside James's again, one hand coming up to grip his hair.

Faster and faster he thrusted, until James whimpered, a high-pitched sound that meant he was on the verge. Thomas could feel the quick and frantic way with which he pulled at himself, his breathing coming out short.

Thomas moaned. Over and over he slammed into James, scarcely able to swallow or breathe. At last he buried his cock as far as it would go and squirmed inside James until James reached orgasm, shuddering against Thomas and bucking up into him. Thomas felt the hot spray of his seed against his own stomach. He tumbled over the edge moments later, shooting his seed inside of James, who groaned again, bucking up so that Thomas stayed firmly rooted inside him.

When it was over Thomas collapsed on the bed beside him. They used the bed sheets to clean themselves, tossing them aside afterwards. For long minutes there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing. 

He turned his head to James. James turned his and gave a rare flash of teeth with his grin. Then it faded and James took a deep sigh and rolled on his side to face him. Thomas waited for at least some light rebuff or chastisement, but James just gazed at him, expression soft and serene.

“No, ‘I told you so’?” asked Thomas. He felt small pangs of guilt prickle him. “I should be a court jester for doubting you.”

James shook his head. “No. There’s nothing wrong with the fear you had. It was justified, after what I did.”

“After what we did,” Thomas corrected. “It was a bad idea.”

“It was a terrible idea,” said James with a raised eyebrow. “But…it worked. And perhaps, just perhaps, the results were not all negative. Clearly there were things that needed to see the harsh light of day.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow of his own. “That was a terribly way of going about it.”

“I won’t argue that.”

He scooted himself close to Thomas, reaching out and cupping his cheek. Thomas kissed his thumb. Encouraged, James moved closer and Thomas automatically rolled over so that James could mold his body into his own, effectively spooning him. James nuzzled the back of his neck. He rubbed his body against Thomas's back, getting rid of even the tiniest space between them.

Thomas felt himself dozing in and out of sleep, completely relaxed. At some point there came a harsh knock on the door, startling both of them. Thomas left James's arms and rose, motioning for him to remain where he was. James began to sit up anyway.

“Don’t you dare move. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure it’s for me, Thomas.”

“I said I’ll take care of it,” he repeated, annunciating each word and eyeing James. James sighed and tried to look irritated. Thomas ignored it and threw on his breeches and shirt and answered the door. When he saw who it was he quickly darted through the door way and closed it behind him before Charles Vane could see inside. 

Charles wasn’t wearing his usual clothing. He’d put on more mundane items and wore a long cloak over his shoulders, complete with a large hood that Thomas figured covered the whole of his face so he wouldn’t be recognized.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked, trying to back them up away from the door. Charles barely looked at him, eyes wondering to the door.

“I need to speak with him.”

“Speak to me instead.”

Charles finally looked at Thomas. There were few men of Vane’s height in Nassau, something that added to his overall intimidation. Thomas, however, matched his height and was neither intimidated nor particularly weary of the unpredictable pirate captain. 

Charles didn’t respond, looking at Thomas as though he were the last person he wanted to speak to.

“Why aren’t you guarding the harbor?” Thomas asked.

“Crew can handle it for a few hours. And as I said, I need to speak to Flint. The situation here is changing by the hour. We need to get a handle on the British here on the island, so stand aside.”

Again Charles made to brush past Thomas as though he was lowest on the food chain of the hierarchy here. If he had suspected this attitude from Charles and some others before, Thomas knew it for certain now. More important than his pride, however, was his need for James to have some peace and quiet, and he knew how much Charles Vane could get under the other captain’s skin even on a good day.

He stepped in front of Charles again.

“Please don’t.”

Now real irritation flashed across Charles’s hawk-like face. He sneered at Thomas and balled up his fists. Thomas guessed if he’d been short enough Vane would be trying to look down at him.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Charles growled.

Heart racing, Thomas reached under his shirt sleeve for his dagger only to remember that he’d taken it off. He had no other weapon with which to defend himself against Charles. He held his ground just the same. Vane raised his arm and Anne’s familiar voice shouted at him.

Both men turned to find her on the top of the stairs behind them. 

“Leave him be, Charles,” she said. “Flint’s no good to us all fucked up. We can wait.”

Vane turned his snarl to her. 

“Fuck you kidding? We’re sitting on a powder keg here. All it’s going to take is a single spark.”

He turned back to Thomas, eyes pointedly moving to the door again.

“He’s got until dawn tomorrow. Then I’m moving without him.”

Charles turned and left, bumping up against Anne on his way down the stairs and throwing up his hood. He stopped abruptly as if he were going to say more but continued on instead. Anne rolled her eyes at him, meeting Thomas in the darkened corridor.

“Was he serious?” Thomas asked.

“Don’ mind him,” she replied. “He won’t do anything on his own, not no more. He had another argument with the cunt.”

The statement was meant to explain Vane’s anger but all Thomas heard was the word ‘cunt.’ He raised an eyebrow, not sure whether to laugh or not.

“Beg pardon?” he said instead.

Anne actually blushed. “Eleanor. That’s what I always call her.”

He struggled to hide a smile. He’d never heard such foul language from a woman ever, yet knowing Anne as he did, he chuckled. That earned him a genuine grin from the piratesse. Then her usual frown returned.

“He’s right though. We shouldn’t be here much longer. Some officer down on the beach is giving new orders. New patrols are forming. There’s a good chance this place will be crawling with soldiers by tomorrow evening, from what they’ve been moanin’ about camping on the beach.”

“And Captains Silver and Rackham? What are their thoughts?”

“Vane says they agree with Flint. We need to take the island back before goin’ after the fleet. They’re plannin’ now.”

“You should go,” said Thomas. “I’m sure you’re needed on the Queen Anne.”

Anne shook her head. “Can’t. The patrols are everywhere down there. ‘Sides, what were you gonna do against Charles if I hadn’t intervened?”

She gave him a smug look, green eyes sparkling with mirth. Thomas licked his lips.

“I suppose I was going to let him use me as cannon fodder here in this hallway.”

***


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a mini-sequel to the last chapter, filled with lots of sex. Very explicit, gay sex, wedged rather nicely between important plot things. Then Eleanor arrives, agreeing to sneak them away from Nassau Town. 
> 
> Feedback craved :)

***

 

Thomas re-entered the room. To his relief James was still on the bed, though he’d put on his breeches, probably as a precaution. Thomas came to him and swiftly removed his own clothing. He nodded at James's breeches.

“Take those back off.”

“I take it all is well then,” said James with a small grin.

“For the time being, yes.”

Thomas said no more, waiting expectantly. James stood and removed his pants and they climbed back into bed. Thomas recounted the information Anne had given him and noted James seemed to relax when he said the other captains were on board with his ideas about the island as a priority. James also agreed with Vane’s deadline to leave the tavern by tomorrow. They agreed to spend the night, then head out early to reconnoiter the number of British in Nassau.

“So this is how we’re to spend the entire day?” he asked as Thomas slid up next to him and stretched out like a cat.

“Is that a problem?”

He watched as James drank his form in, eyes roaming down his body languidly. He settled in on his side next to Thomas and rubbed a warm palm over Thomas's chest.

“I don’t think so, no,” he said with a contented sigh.

“Mmm.”

Thomas wiggled happily as James let his hand rest over his chest, lightly kissing his arm. Thomas rubbed his bare leg against James's and James laughed.

“Are you going to start purring?”

Thomas laughed through his nose and rolled over sheepishly, facing him. James kissed his forehead. James further tangled their legs together. A memory came to Thomas then; a sudden jolt of images for seemingly no reason, as memories were wont to do.

“Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?”

“Oh Jesus, Thomas…” said James with fake annoyance.

“Well?”

“Of course I do. We were in your drawing room and you had been reading…wait a moment…”

Thomas bit his bottom lip. “Yes?”

James pinched his eyes shut and opened them. “Aristotle. It was Aristotle’s explanation of the modes of persuasion. You said I was all logos.”

“I did not. I said you tended towards that attitude.”

“No, you implied I was without feeling.”

“I did no such thing…”

Thomas looked at him with dramatic astonishment, though he was grinning. James mirrored his expression. He moved his hand and let his fingers tickle over Thomas's ribs, causing him to gasp and flinch away with a laugh.

“Don’t do that.”

“Huh.”

James did it again, grazing the sensitive skin of his hip this time until Thomas grabbed hold of his wrist and tried to push him away. James snorted and wrapped both his legs around Thomas's, effectively trapping him.

“I did not imply you were without feeling!” Thomas declared between small fits of laughter. “James, please!”

James relented, pulling his hands back. “All right. You did not. But you did wring the truth from me at last.”

“You were so damn stubborn.”

“And you were so determined to have your way with me.”

James faked indignation. “You blackmailed me with sex, do you know that?”

Thomas simply grinned.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I? Oh but how it worked…”

He trailed off and gazed into James's eyes. James sighed again and propped himself up on an elbow. He moved to touched Thomas again and Thomas flinched.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise,” said James.

Frowning, Thomas allowed James's hand to travel over the side of his ribs, past his hip and over his rump. This time he caressed the skin, giving his rump a slight squeeze. Thomas hummed happily and bent forward to kiss him softly. James pulled him close and fell quiet again. Eventually they dozed off.

 

As evening set in Thomas cautiously went downstairs and bought them supper from the bar. James didn’t want him wondering out of the building, not without Anne. She was doing her own reconnaissance elsewhere but would also be rooming in the Redfish that night. After supper they washed with little more than a pitcher full of water, two cloths and a bar of soap between them but it was enough.

This time James plunged back into bed first.

They spoke of mundane things and James spoke much more comfortably about the house he and Miranda had shared. Thomas admitted to him that when he had first arrived there it was hard for him to see the possibilities of living there; he’d been looking at everything through the heavy gloom of his grief. James, of course, understood only all too well. Yet they agreed that it would be quite possible to live there together and make it a happy home, should they so choose and should they reclaim New Providence. 

Their talk dwindled, however, when James expressed his desire for other things.

“Take off your pants,” he said, removing his own.

Thomas flashed him a devious grin and removed them. James told him to roll on his side, exposing his rear to James. James looked greedily at it. Also on his side, he scooted close behind Thomas and teased his index and middle fingers along Thomas's cleft, then gently inserted them one at a time. He sighed when Thomas clenched against him, feeling his warm insides. He wanted to take his time this time, to squeeze and wring every last ounce of pleasure from Thomas that he could before he climaxed.

Smiling to himself with that goal in mind, James began moving his fingers inside him. Thomas started to writhe in front of him, small noises of pleasure occasionally escaping his throat. James grabbed one of his cheeks and pushed it out, opening his hole further so that he wiggled his fingers in up to the knuckles.

“Oh fuck,” came Thomas's mumbled response.

James kissed the top of his shoulder and the ridge of his backbone. Thomas tasted of salt and lavender from his shirt. James licked and sucked on whatever skin was before him as Thomas continued to writhe to his machinations. He bared the side of his throat when James leaned over and kissed it, moaning softly.

James pushed in a third finger. His cock reacted when Thomas's breath stuttered and he bucked.

“The things you do,” mumbled Thomas, his voice thick and heavy and wanting. Behind him James grinned devilishly to himself, quite pleased.

“Do you want more?” he cooed into Thomas's ear, nibbling on it.

“God yes.”

James pulled back from Thomas's head and concentrated on his fingers and what they were doing. He put a palm against the middle of Thomas's back as he pumped all three fingers in and out of him. Thomas gasped and cursed, hips arching sharply forward so that his cleft squeezed against James's fingers. James pushed on his back and continued pumping him, moving his fingers around in a circle and growing rock-hard as Thomas contracted and then yielded marvelously around him. His fingers and Thomas's rim grew slick, making James’s job easier. He heard his own breathing grow quick.

“James, please,” Thomas begged, trying to twist around to see his love. But James kept pressing against his back, holding him in place while his fingers worked their magic until his cleft was dripping wet.

Thomas was panting hard when James removed his fingers. He let out a muffled cry of displeasure at the loss.

“What do you want?” James whispered as Thomas twisted to face him. James moaned at the sight of him—blue eyes nearly black and half-lidded, his face flushed and a sheen of sweat beginning to make the bridge of his nose and cheekbones shine.

“For you to take me,” Thomas panted out. His lips were wet and parted and James swiftly moved in to capture them. Thomas kissed him hungrily but James remained restrained, barely allowing his tongue to flick inside of Thomas. He pulled back and rubbed his cock against the small of Thomas's back, just above his cleft.

“I need you to make me wet,” said James.

At this Thomas hummed, fixing him with a gaze so lascivious James thought he might be able to come just looking at him. Grinning, he kneeled on the bed and motioned for Thomas to come to him, stroking pointedly at his cock.

Thomas turned and crawled up to him on his elbows, looking so reduced and subordinate that James heard himself muttering lustful sentiments.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous like that,” he said as Thomas reached him, lifting himself up on his palms and looking straight up at him as he took James in his mouth.

“Huunnnh,” James moaned out. He placed a hand on Thomas's head, gently following along as Thomas expertly danced around his cock, making him hot and wet and aching in a matter of minutes. James knew he’d have to stop him or he’d risk ruining his plans. James pulled back but Thomas was reluctant, licking and fondling his shaft as he pulled away.

“On your side again,” said James.

James scooted behind him once more and positioned himself. He languished in kissing Thomas's back and shoulder and neck again until Thomas was whining and begging him. James pressed his crown against Thomas's rim at last but didn’t push in.

“What do you want?” he asked again.

This Thomas was so worked up he didn’t bother with his graceful rhetoric.

“I want you to fuck me. Please just fuck me, fill me up and fuck me.”

A sharp pang of sexual heat hit James’s gut and his groin at the words. Still, he had enough of his larger head about him to keep the game up.

James carefully entered Thomas, pushing his cock halfway in and holding it there for several long seconds. He listened to both of them panting. Dear God in heaven, but this was going to be good.

He pulled out and went back in halfway again. Thomas muttered curses and tried to buck into James but James wouldn’t allow it, pulling back and causing Thomas to curse louder. He leaned over to see the effect he was having. Thomas was flushed red, panting through parted lips and his eyes were nearly closed. He glanced up at James.

“God damn you,” he said.

“Mmm,” said James, and thrust the full length of his shaft inside Thomas. They both gasped.

“Yes,” hissed out Thomas. James moaned as Thomas's muscles contracted around his slickened cock.

“How’s this?” he asked, running a hand down Thomas's ribs and wrapping around the lowest part of his stomach. He felt Thomas's cock twitch against the back of his hand.

“Indescribable,” replied Thomas, wiggling himself and trying to get James to start fucking him. Still James did not. He threw a leg over Thomas's and wiggled his cock inside him, his scrotum pressing up against Thomas's ass in a most agreeable manner.

Thomas grabbed James's hand and put it over his cock. James chuckled deep in his throat. Perfect.

He funneled his hand and pulled along Thomas's cock. Thomas groaned and tilted his head back, yellow hair tickling James's forehead. James took a deep breath and inhaled the ripe and heady scent of musk in the air. He listened to his cock squelching against Thomas's ass, of his hand fapping Thomas's cock. The effect was utterly intoxicating and overpowering.

“James, I can’t take it anymore,” Thomas whimpered. “Fuck me, or I’ll go mad.”

In truth James could barely take it anymore either, and he complied with the request. He thrusted his cock into Thomas, picking up the pace and causing both of them to moan. Meanwhile he worked Thomas's cock at a steady pace, pulling extra hard over his head until he felt precum dribbling out. He recalled how he’d taken Thomas on his little secret beach less than a year ago, of the complete need not to only have him but to possess him so they both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Thomas belonged to him. That same need for control hit him now as Thomas became all his again, his every breath and movement under James's control. No more Emily Sutton, only Thomas.

Deep down James knew it was that very same control that he had navigated by the last eleven years. It was part of him now for better or worse.

As he inhaled Thomas's scent again he embraced it, watching as his hand controlled Thomas's shaft. Thomas clutched the hand over his cock, moaning. The heat in James was growing and he was forced to leave Thomas's cock and focus solely on other things. He hiked Thomas's free leg up and wrapped his arm underneath his thigh, pulling wide Thomas's hole. Thomas hissed through his teeth, muttering out more curses.

“I’m going to fuck you until I come inside you,” James rasped out.

Thomas's response was incomprehensible but his voice was lust filled and pushed to the edge. James clasped Thomas's leg hard, pushing his cock inside Thomas and reveling at the warm velvet that wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and that’s all there was.

It didn’t help that Thomas had become completely pliable and prostrate for him, his eyes closed and breath coming out in ragged intervals. How lucky he was to have found someone who not only tolerated James's need for control but actually enjoyed it. So many men would not have.

James began slamming into him, fucking him as hard as he could. Liquid leaked out from Thomas’s cleft, coating James's cock and sending him ever closer to the edge. He felt Thomas's arm muscles moving frantically. He looked to see Thomas jerking at himself and quickly knocked Thomas's hand away, taking over the job.

“You are mine,” he heard himself say as if in a hazy dream. “You are mine.”

He didn’t know what Thomas said back to him. His cock fapped loudly against Thomas’s ass. Thomas's precum leaked out over his hand. He fucked Thomas with his entire being, feeling something that transcended beyond the physical come into him, drench him and take him over. Vague flashes of the sex they’d had after James had confessed his feelings for the first time came to him, making him wonderfully dizzy:

He was withdrawing his fingers from Thomas. “Come here,” he urged…

“God, you’re beautiful,” Thomas had breathed out…

He watched as Thomas's lithe white body writhed like a sheet of silk over his lap and cock, sweat coating the contours of his muscles…

A long, low moan escaped James’s lips as the white-hot edge of orgasm crept up on him. He fucked into Thomas until his balls ached. Then it hit him full on and a high keen came up from somewhere deep inside and escaped his lips. His face screwed up and he saw nothing but red and black behind his eyes. As his seed shot into Thomas he pushed himself in up to his scrotum, bucking hard and crushing Thomas's leg to him as though it were his, arm coming up to wrap possessively around Thomas's chest, crushing every last inch of Thomas to him. Dimly he heard Thomas come, felt his seed as it sprayed out over James's arm.

Thomas let out a long moan, eyes screwed shut, as he writhed against James. James held him, pushing his entire body into Thomas’s until he no longer knew what belonged to himself and what belonged to Thomas.

For long minutes they remained paralyzed against each other, breathless. James finally pulled himself out and rolled over on his back, closing his eyes. His mouth was like cotton. His heart pounded wildly against his chest. He felt pleasantly dizzy. Tears came out the corners of his eyes. Eventually he was aware of Thomas leaning down over him, concern on his flushed and sweaty face.

“James?”

James blinked as everything else that was not Thomas came back into focus.

“I’m all right.”

“You’re trembling,” said Thomas, brows furrowed. He cupped James's face.

“Come here,” said James, pulling him down. They were both hot and sweaty but James didn’t care.

Thomas lay down next to him, resting a palm over his chest and sliding a leg over his. He brushed James's hair away from his face and wiped at the sweat along his forehead.

“You are indescribable,” he said after a long beat. “My truest love, who knows no shame.”

James could do little more than make a contended sound at that as a heavy exhaustion seeped into him.

***

 

James shot up in bed, nearly jumping out of his skin at the pounding coming from the door. Beside him Thomas had done the same.

“Who on earth,” Thomas mumbled. James was already out of the bed and pulling his breeches on.

“Just a fucking moment,” he bellowed at the door, fumbling to hike his trousers on and to button them. He felt the tendrils of fear pulling at him. What it if it were the British?

Instead a familiar, gravel voice answered him from the other side of the door.

“It’s Charles. We’ve got to hurry.”

James dared a glance to Thomas, whose expression surely echoed the panic he himself felt. When Thomas was halfway dressed another urgent round of knocks came from the door. James crossed the room, unlocked the door and swung it open.

“What the fuck?”

Charles stood there with Anne behind him. On his other side was Eleanor. James couldn’t hide his surprise. She looked on edge. They all did. Eleanor brushed past them and came into the room. Her eyes swept past Thomas as he was pulling down his shirt without so much as a second thought. She headed to the shuttered windows, opening them.

“What’s going on?” James demanded. Charles and Anne also came inside. Anne glanced down the corridor.

“All clear,” she said, quickly shutting the door behind her.

“Sorry,” said Charles, looking from James to Thomas and back again. “But the soldiers have been given orders to forcibly occupy the tavern. Took them a while to hear the news about what happened to Hume’s ships in the harbor but once they did they moved their asses.”

Eleanor came back from the windows.

“So far so good. Here.”

James caught what was tossed at him, what she had been carrying in her arms. It was clothing.

“You too,” said Eleanor as she threw a second one to Thomas. James held it out. It was a dark cloak, the same one still worn by Vane and now also by Anne. It effectively wrapped all the way around their fronts, concealing their clothes.

“Now, goddamnit!” said Eleanor, nodding at the cloak. James shrugged into it, nodding at Thomas to do the same. Eleanor’s eyes landed on his.

“I’ve agreed to help you out of here as a final act of our old partnership,” she explained. She looked to Charles. James followed her gaze. The two of them seemed to have come to some sort of compromise—at least professionally.

“Suffice it to say,” Eleanor said, “That I promised First Lieutenant Wilkes, the officer in charge of Nassau, that I knew of a group of addicts and leapers. They’ve ordered all of their kind to be separated out from the rest of the populace. I said I would aid them, take all of you down to a designated area close to the Wrecks. It’s the only way you’re getting out of here.”

The look she gave James was one he knew well. It was gravely honest.

James licked his lips. He looked to Charles, who gave him the barest of nods. Then he turned to Thomas, who also nodded at him, sapphire eyes bright but worried. James nodded to a stray chair against the wall where Christopher Marlow’s Dr. Faustus sat.

“Get your book,” he said.

***


	14. Chapter 14

They managed to beeline their way out of the tavern without incident. As soon as they were outside they lifted their hoods over their heads. James and the rest followed Eleanor through the streets and past more British soldiers than James had been around in a very long time. Peering out the edges of the hood he could tell they were on edge, their bayonets and swords at the ready. Few of them were lounging around now; they traveled in pairs or in formation. He also saw the effect it was having on the remaining townsfolk, who went about their daily routines eyeing the soldiers as though they were pressing an invisible knife to their collective throats. Things were getting ugly here, and quick. His mind raced as he now seriously considered the proposal that had popped into his head only a couple of hours ago. He had been weary of mentioning it, but now it seemed like it might just be the best option.

He kept the idea in the front of his mind as he followed Eleanor; along with constantly making certain Thomas was beside him.

“Halt there.”

James looked up too quickly as a soldier help up a palm in front of Eleanor. He ducked his head as the soldier and his companion drew their rifles off their shoulders and gripped them, looking at the group of them with suspicion.

“Where are you going, ma’am, and who do you travel with?” the soldiers asked.

“Pardon me, sirs,” said Eleanor, giving a slight bow. “I have orders from First Lieutenant Wilkes to bring these men and women to the western side of the beach. Two of them are opium addicts and the other two are hopeless drunks.”

James's eye twitched. He watched through his brow as the soldier looked dubiously at them, eyes narrowing. James automatically reached for the hilt of his sword only to realize he didn’t have it. In fact, he realized with dread, he’d only seen Anne with her short sword and Thomas's dagger. Charles must have left his weapons on his ship as well, for fear of being stopped by the soldiers.

“You may inspect them if you wish,” Eleanor was saying, “Although I’d recommend against it. Three of them suffer from leprosy, which, as you know, is contagious.”

James watched as the two soldiers glanced at one another and frowned. The speaker finally nodded and stepped to the side. They both gave Eleanor and the group a wide berth. James grinned to himself. Clever Eleanor.

“On your way then, quickly,” the soldier said.

Eleanor gave her thanks and nodded at them. They continued on. Other soldiers stared at them every now and then but seemed to recognize them as what Eleanor had claimed they were and left them alone.

Gradually James heard the sounds of people die down and the presence of soldiers fade as well. He glanced up to see that they were veering away from the beach and the last of the buildings in Nassau. Eleanor guided them to a cluster of trees overgrown with flowering bromeliads. Their thick and bushy leaves provided them a wall of protection from wondering eyes. Eleanor came to a stop. James threw off his hood.

“This is as far as I go,” said Eleanor. She let out a breath and offered her hand to him. James looked up at her. Eleanor offered him a wane smile. He saw how she fought off any trace of emotion. He took her hand and gripped it.

“Won’t you change your mind?” he asked.

“I’m sorry James. I cannot. We always knew the possibility of this one day, didn’t we?”

James sighed. “I suppose we did. But we were close.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Eleanor’s mask dropped and he saw the moisture collecting in her eyes. They had been close to having everything they both had worked towards for so long. James took comfort in knowing that this was for the best, yet that knowledge did little to quell the sadness he felt at losing Eleanor Guthrie.

“Yes, we were close,” Eleanor said in a low voice. They were still holding hands. She withdrew hers, face hardening again. She bid a brief farewell to both Thomas and Anne then brushed past Charles. James could not tell if she had even looked at him or not but Charles turned around after her, grabbing her hand. Eleanor allowed him to hold it for a few seconds, then she pulled away, her eyes flashing to his briefly before turning and walking away.

James turned to the other two.

“Go on,” he said. “Keep going straight.”

Thomas and Anne nodded, both of them looking at Charles, who continued to stare after Eleanor as though he had all the time in the world to do so. Thomas gave his arm a quick squeeze before he and Anne set off ahead of them.

James turned to Charles. He wasn’t practiced at choosing comforting words for anyone other than Thomas but he felt he needed to say something to the other captain. He needed Charles focused on the task ahead of them.

“She still loves you, you know,” he said.

The back of Charles’s long, matted brown hair blew softly in the breeze. He didn’t turn around.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I crossed a line when I killed her father. She’ll never forgive that. I wouldn’t forgive that.”

“You think she turned because of it?” James asked. “For revenge?”

Charles shrugged. “Maybe. You know how vengeful she can be.”

He turned at last and James thought he looked lost.

“Truth is we both know this is what she’s always wanted. I tried to convince myself otherwise, but in her heart she’s always wanted reconciliation. Same as you did.”

James felt something in chest harden.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly.

“No,” agreed Charles. “Not anymore.”

James startled when Charles placed a palm over his shoulder as he walked past him.

“Come on. We’ve got to figure out where the fuck we’re going,” he said.

***

 

The two of them caught up to Thomas and Anne. They all had their hoods back in place as another patrol passed them. It was then that James suggested they all go to his home deeper into the interior. There was no other choice if they wanted to avoid more British soldiers, plus they would all need food and shelter at some point since he didn’t know when they would be back on the ocean again.

Once at the house James invited Charles and Anne in. They wasted little time in gathering around the kitchen table to discuss what came next. Charles, as it turned out, had more critical information for him.

“Two more ships were spotted coming round Eleuthera right before I left for the shore,” he said, flipping a coin over the back of his knuckles. “No doubt they decided not to engage once they saw the force mounted against them, but that only means more will join them soon. If we’re to take care of island first, we must act soon or we’ll be forced into another battle at sea.”

James stroked his beard, thinking furiously. In this Charles was correct. If the British sent even two more ships to join the first two both he and Charles would be needed back on their ships, putting an end to their plan to rid the island of England. The simple truth was there was not enough pirates to do battle on the island and around it at the same time—unless they take advantage of their ships’ positions. His proposal flashed in his mind again. It was time to give it voice.

“I have been considering something,” he began slowly. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, spreading open his palms as though to encompass the invisible idea. He locked eyes with Charles.

“What if we were to raid Nassau? Set up an attack on the port as we would if we were raiding one of the colonies? We would use our ships to fire onto the beach and fort while our crews would—”

“Would attack the soldiers on land and we would raid all the ammunitions and then descend on the fort itself?”

Charles interrupted and finished his proposal for him, to a tee. James sat back and blinked at him.

“Yes,” he said after a pause.

Charles gave him a crooked smile. “No shit. Had the same thought earlier after I came to your door the first time.”

He threw a look to Thomas, who quirked an eyebrow at him. Anne looked at Thomas.

“Are they fuckin’ agreeing on something?” she asked him in disbelief.

“It does sound that way, doesn’t it?” he mused, looking at her sideways.

James looked at both of them queerly. Thomas simply grinned at him.

“But for this to work,” he continued, shifting his gaze back to Charles, “We somehow have to get some of our combined crew on the island as well, something made nearly impossible now that they’ve stepped up security.”

“Wasn’t impossible for you to sneak on shore, was it?” countered Charles.

“No, but that was after dark and only required one launch. We’ll need at least forty or fifty able-bodied men if we’re to pull this off.”

Charles shrugged. “It’s late afternoon already. There’s no Hume circling the island now. Your warship is still the closest to that village on the other side of the island. She can protect a few launches in the water.”

“What about your men? The Ranger must be a quarter of a mile away from the Aurelius. How will they get ashore at the village?”

Adelaide Village was, of course, the only logical point of entry due to the force of soldiers in Nassau’s port.

Charles paused. He stopped flipping the coin and licked his lips.

“What if you and your men manage to create enough chaos and kill enough redcoats as you make your way to the port so that my men can come ashore without concern? We would only need all fifty or so men after the initial surprise, right?”

James thought. He played the scenario out in his mind: Twenty-five or so of his men sneaking ashore, cutting across the island and ambushing soldiers along the way, all the way to Nassau’s eastern side, then surprising the larger force assembled there so that the waiting launches from the Ranger could come ashore and join them for a combined assault. It would all hinge on the success of getting across New Providence without allowing a single soldier to escape and alert the rest. A careful selection of his crew, then.

“It could work,” he said, splaying a palm over the table top. “But I’ll need to personally oversee the selection of men, make sure only the best are used.”

“But what about the gathering British ships?” asked Thomas. “Surely by now they are sending more from Eleuthera as Captain Vane said. If we are going to act soon it sounds as though you’ll be heading out the harbor at precisely the wrong time. You’ll be stuck out there.”

James opened his mouth to protest but Anne suddenly jumped in.

“Let me go,” she said. “I want to. ‘Sides, Jack’s got a least a handful of Teach’s crew on the Queen Anne that you’ll want. I can go to both ships, tell him and Silver the deal. And won’t you want them and key crew here anyway?”

James hadn’t thought about that. He winced. This all sounded fine and dandy to him and Charles, but Anne was correct; their first mates and quartermasters needed to be in agreement as well. So they would all hold council here. The thought of so many pirates temporarily inhabiting Miranda’s old house was…very strange, to say the least. Still, it seemed the only way.

The only problem left to discuss became who to keep on all their ships while so many of them were on the island. Clearly some of the best men from each crew would have to remain behind to intimidate the ships coming from Eleuthera. He and Charles agreed that, as soon as all launches had delivered their human cargo, the Queen Anne and the Marcus Aurelius would join alongside the Ranger to fend off the oncoming British while simultaneously bombarding the fort.

When all was said and done it was nearly nightfall. James threw together the last of the food in the house for a quick supper. Then he opened his heavy trunk in the corner of the living room and pulled out his collection of blades and pistols. They all selected at least one of each. James and Charles each took two pistols in addition to their cutlasses. Charles announced he was going to stand watch outside in case a patrol showed up. Anne made ready to leave for the ships. James pointed her in the direction that would take her straight to the beach and where James always had an extra skiff ready. He followed her outside.

“A moment?”

Anne turned, one boot on the porch steps. He had never exchanged more than a few sentences with Anne the entire time he’d known her. He must have looked awkward to her because she was watching him with a perplexed expression, green eyes wary.

“You and I haven’t ever been more than allies,” he began, “And barely at that. But I see you with him, and I know he’s taken to you. Thank you.”

“For what?”

James shrugged. “For watching over him.”

She made a ‘tuh’ sound and shrugged but James wasn’t fooled. He gave her a lopsided grin and turned to go back inside.

“He wouldn’t need it, you know,” she said.

He turned.

Anne looked at the ground and frowned, then back up to him.

“He wouldn’t need protection if you taught him the sword.”

“Thomas knows how to use a sword…”

“Barely. He told me…”

She hesitated.

“Go on,” said James, raising an eyebrow.

“He told me you never have the time to teach him. Said it like he wants you to show him. None of my fucking business, I know, but you should. If he’s gonna be with you.”

James sucked in a breath.

“Thomas is not with me, he is my friend from London…”

Anne motioned for him to let it go. “I understand the two of you more than you know. Probably best you play the fool anyways.”

James looked at her. He could think of nothing immediate with which to further deny her implied allegations, and in that moment he saw that she did know and accepted it all, and he closed his mouth and let the moment pass between them. It was broken when Thomas opened the door.

“There you are,” he said.

 

James peered out a window at the dark purple sky as the first stars appeared. He found the North Star with relative ease after years of practice. It was visible from the house, glittering in the sky like a faraway diamond. It always gave him a sense of direction, though now he looked at it and felt only a foreboding of the fight to come. It would be messy and it would be bloody.

Thomas leaned against the wall beside him.

“What are your thoughts?” he asked.

“That she was right. I should have taught you sword play, preferably while we were still on Santa Ybel.”

“She? Ah, you spoke to Anne.”

“She told me she understand us better than I thought. What did she mean?”

“A moment.”

Thomas moved to light a candelabrum and sat it in the center of the table to prepare for their guests. He lit it and began placing single candles on the shelf ledges with ease as though he already lived here. James watched him, becoming memorized as each new flame contrasted over Thomas's features, smoothing out all the wrinkles in his face yet giving him a sharp edge.

“She is in a relationship with another woman,” he said at last, blowing out the match. “She told me during our first stay at the Redfish. She’s amazingly perceptive. She’s quiet because she watches and listens.”

James frowned. All true things, he decided, but he wasn’t certain if he liked the idea of Anne and Thomas as friends.

“Just be careful,” he said, moving away from the window. “She’s on our side for now, but Anne Bonny is a powerful killer, like any pirate.”

Thomas gave him a critical look, wrinkles reappearing on his face. Then it softened.

“My dear James, how I wish you weren’t so mistrustful of everyone and everything.”

The words triggered a bitter thought, one he couldn’t keep from rolling out of his mouth.

“I placed my trust too easily in the past. It was a hard lesson.”

He thought upon Admiral Hennessy, remembering the face of the man he had once considered a second father. The pride in his eyes at James's accomplishments as a lieutenant, replaced by disappointment and pity that fateful day in Whitehall.

The feel of Thomas's thumb caressing the side of his cheek brought him back to the here and now. He was smiling ruefully at him.

“You can trust again,” he said quietly. “I know you can because I already trust Anne. Possibly even Billy and Silver. You don’t have to trust them with your heart, you know. Just stay on the surface.”

“I don’t know how,” James confessed. He took Thomas's hand in his and kissed his palm. “I don’t know how to trust at all if not with all my heart.”

Thomas sighed, staring at him with a look somewhere between sorrow and longing. A peal of thunder and a flash of lighting from outside startled them. James had not seen clouds out the northern window. He walked to the front of the house and peered out. Sure enough a fast spring storm was upon them. He realized the horses were out grazing in the back yard and that he’d left cutlery tools in the smoke house.

“Damn. I’ve got to get the horses and close the smoke house.”

“I shall help. You get the horses; I’ll tend to the smoke house.”

By the time James had made it to the stable the skies had opened up. Instead of the light drizzle they had grown accustomed to these past few weeks, this was more of a monsoon, more typical of the West Indies. He was drenched as he rounded all three horses up. He fed them and secured their doors. This was another problem he would have to deal with sometime soon. The house keeper—one of Eleanor’s old guards—had presumably fled during the British occupation, leaving him with the horses and some livestock to worry about. No matter now. He stored the concern away for later. All animals had enough food and water from the garden for a few weeks at least.

He left the stables and ran around the other side of the house, where Thomas was hurriedly putting away the cutlery tools and moving the drying herbs further inside. James gave him a hand.

“Did you really hang these here?” he asked, moving the last of the herbs away from the door and the larger cracks in the wood beside it.

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t thinking.”

He frowned over his shoulder at whatever sarcastic remark Thomas had made. They both looked out the small building into the pouring rain.

“Well, we’re already soaked,” muttered James. He made for the door but Thomas grabbed his wrist.

“Wait. How long until they return from the ships?”

“At least an hour. Why?”

Thomas wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him. James laughed through his nose.

“What, out here? Right now?”

“Why not? Vane is off patrolling towards the road. You have no neighbors within sight. It’s dark.”

“It piss-pouring the rain!”

“Mmm. Then perhaps we should get out of these wet clothes.”

Before James could object Thomas was peeling his shirt above his head and taking off his belt. James laughed, reaching out to stop his hands.

“Thomas, we cannot.”

“A valid reason, please.”

“Because this is mad.”

“That fails to qualify as a valid reason. We’ll be facing nothing less than a war tomorrow. Now let me go.”

He pushed James's hands away from his belt, restraining them and bending towards him for a fast kiss. Then he pulled James's hands against his bare, wet chest.

James heard himself moan. Thomas's chest was cold and wet and his nipples were hard. The mouth pressed into his was warm. Hot and cold combined to stir up the sexual butterflies in his stomach. He yanked himself away. Thomas took off his boots.

“We can’t do it in here,” insisted James, looking in distaste at the tiny and cramped quarters.

Still Thomas did not hesitate.

“Then we go outside.”

He had taken off his breeches and slipped back into his boots, totally naked. He crossed James and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the building and around to its back wall.

“Thomas, for God’s sake…”

“Yes,” said Thomas, looking up at the falling sky. “Right where God can see us.”

He pushed James’s back against the wall and stepped back. Through the pouring rain and the two lanterns lit from the house James looked at the sight before him. The sexual butterflies turned into stampeding horses.

Thomas stood before him, leaning on one foot. His hip didn’t jut out so much as it curved away from him. Nude save for his leather boots that came just below his knees, he looked like a fucking Greek statue to James, every last glorious detail etching itself into his memory the way such statues had been etched. Thomas's erection stood out from him, thick and dripping wet. Rivulets of rain cascaded down his body, accentuating the lines of his muscles. James groaned as he followed their path over the front of his hips and between the sharp lines that ran down to his thighs. His hair was plastered to his forehead, appearing dark brown in the rain, yet those bright blue eyes shone like the gems James always swore they resembled.

“I always give you the chance to deny me,” Thomas said.

“God damnit,” breathed James. Damn him. He had it all wrong, he realized. It was Thomas who had all the control, all the power over him. He was only ever struggling to retain some for himself.

“I’m in love with a fucking God,” he heard himself say. Fuck.

Thomas had heard. His eyes shone even brighter, a smug smile coming to his face. He licked his lips, tongue flicking out as if in slow motion. James realized he had pressed himself up against the smoke house wall until his shoulder blades were aching, his blunt nails digging into the wood. He raised an arm and reached out for Thomas. His own cock strained against his pants.

“Come here,” he mumbled. Thomas took a single step forward, reaching out just enough for James to have to move off the wall to grab him. When he did James crushed Thomas to him, thrusting his crotch against Thomas's cock and his lips against Thomas's mouth.

Thomas hummed in the back of his throat, eagerly planting kisses all along James's throat. He tore at James's shirt. James peeled it off and cast it aside in the pouring rain. He stepped out of his boots and Thomas helped him out of his belt and pants. Then he slipped his boots back on so that he matched his lover’s appearance. Now it was Thomas's turn to take stock. James stared at Thomas's eyes as they travelled over his body.

“It rains even in the desert,” said James, recalling their intimate talk of earlier. He grinned when he saw the effect it had on Thomas, who moved in to rein more kisses along his broad chest, over his nipples and down to his hard abdomen. James closed his eyes, taking pleasure in the touch.

And then the inevitable. James opened his eyes and looked around them. An open field stretched out behind the house, black in the night. A few dozen yards to their left were the woods. James imagined a stray soldier wandering out from the woods, seeing them here against the wall. His eyes would go wide. Perhaps he’d yell out some curse. Then he’d raise his weapon and James would have no choice but to rush forward and kill him.

Thomas's tongue licked its way over the contours of his stomach, lips kissing over his scars. James forced him back, hands gripping his shoulders.

“No, it’s too dangerous,” he panted. He hadn’t noticed he was out of breath.

Thomas's eyes grew hard with determination.

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing his way up to James's chest again. James knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do for him. God, he wished it would work.

“Thomas please,” James whispered, pushing him back again. “There could be a stray soldier, or Vane for Chrissake…”

Thomas grabbed him by the cock and stroked him. James's protests turned into a moan. Jesus, that felt good. He looked down, watching as Thomas slowly funneled his hand along his shaft, fingers massaging at his scrotum. James squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to force the images of discovery out of his mind, told himself it would be one hell of a coincidence for anyone—even a lost soldier—to find them out here in this downpour in the middle of the night. Ridiculous.

Yet the images wouldn’t abate, even as his cock began to throb with want. Thomas reached around and pressed a finger into his rim.

James hissed between his teeth and looked frantically around. He kept seeing it: The look on their faces, the look on Charles’s face, on John Silver’s face. Even though they already knew he was queer, James knew that to actually see him in the act would have a different effect than if he were with a woman.

“No,” he begged, breathless as Thomas pushed a second finger in and opened him up. The fingers stilled.

“Tell me to stop,” Thomas said, leaning up against him, head against his shoulder. “Just say it.”

He wiggled his fingers the tiniest bit, testing. James bit his lip until it hurt. God, Thomas felt so good, and the truth was…

The truth was…

He let out a strangled cry, spreading his legs over the muddy ground so that Thomas could push in deeper. He looked around again, heart pounding.

The truth was he wanted this, here and now.

The rain and the black sky overhead and seeing Thomas standing there before him had filled him with a desire he’d not felt since the first time Thomas had taken him all those years ago. He could not tell Thomas to stop.

He squeezed Thomas's rump and lifted Thomas's cock so that the shaft lay across his belly, then he pressed their bodies together again and began rocking against Thomas. Thomas looked up with half-lidded eyes. His lips parted as he gave a small gasp, moaning at James's rocking.

James hissed when Thomas pushed his fingers in and out at more urgent pace. He swallowed. His mouth was full of saliva but his throat was dry. Thomas removed his fingers and turned James around. James raised his arm and braced it across the wood, bending over. He heard Thomas mutter some lusty sentiment. He held his breath, heart pounding. What if someone came by, what if…

As Thomas pushed himself inside James's rim his thoughts shattered and he stopped caring about all his demonic ‘ifs’ and ‘maybe’s.

Thomas made a slight shift, angling his cock and when he started fucking James, James let out a loud moan. He was hitting the spot already.

He clenched his fists and rested his forehead on his arm as Thomas worked him, hands on James's hips. Thomas filled and stretched him. James felt every inch of Thomas’s cock as he contracted around it. He heard Thomas whimper and he began fucking him harder. James moaned louder. He clenched his teeth together, willing himself to be quiet. He always made some noise but never like this, so soon. But what Thomas was doing to him…

Thomas grabbed his hips harder and pulled on James, causing his whole body to jerk into Thomas.

“Fuck Thomas,” he said, panting rapidly now as Thomas kept pulling James to him. Even through the rain James could hear Thomas fapping up against him, feel his scrotum against his rear. He felt whole and complete, as though Thomas were made exclusively for him.

*I am yours, and you are mine.*

“James,” Thomas breathed out. James could tell he was close to the edge of bliss. James motioned for him to stop for a moment while he shifted and pressed himself up against the wall. Like clockwork Thomas knew what James wanted and he come in close behind James so that his body could press up against his lover’s as he plunged himself back inside James. James reached down and began to pull furiously on himself. Thomas fucked him hard and fast. His lips tickled against the base of James's neck, lips parting as his own quickened breath hit his skin, warming it in the cool rain.

Yet James was anything but cool. Waves of pleasure rolled over him, heating him up and making him feel as though he would explode. Thomas kept hitting his spot and he made high keening noises like never before. Thomas's hand clamped around his mouth but he continued fucking him without mercy. James pulled at his cock. It was aching now, ready for release. The moment seemed to crest for an impossibly long time. He wished he could hold onto it forever. Thomas began whimpering with each thrust. James pushed back from the wall and leaned into Thomas. He gave himself over entirely to the other man, muscles so tense they could rip. He leaned his head back on Thomas's shoulder, afraid his legs would give out. His breath hitched and turned into one long moan as Thomas wrung and ripped his pleasure out from him at last. He pulled and shook his cock for all it was worth. He felt Thomas come inside him, muscles spasming. The moment finally began to fade. James pushed himself off and out of Thomas and leaned heavily against the wall. The rain had lightened.

He was completely out of breath. So was Thomas. They staggered back into the shed and scooped up their ruined clothes. James weakly pointed to the house.

“Come on,” he said.

 

It had only been thirty minutes since their foray to the smoke house. After peeking out the windows James saw they were still alone. Wherever Vane was patrolling James did not know; he worried that he might have run into trouble, but if so then surely they would have heard something. Vane would not go without a fight at least.

They dried off and dressed themselves again. That took at least another thirty minutes because James was unable to keep his hands and lips away from Thomas for more than a few minutes at a time. That caused Thomas to return the favor so that when James was ready to leave the room he had to press a finger against Thomas's lips and quickly duck out, pretending to be annoyed. He was, of course, grinning to himself as Thomas followed him out into the living room.

***


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we continue. Thanks to everyone who's still reading, I heart you all! This chapter is one big pirate pow-wow at James and Miranda's house. There's lots of lover's angst when James is forced to confront his sexuality in a way he'd never quite imagined. And Thomas gets mad. Like, really mad. (Stubborn, stubborn James!)

To say that it felt somewhat awkward sitting in James's house surrounded by pirates was an understatement. The house had seemed surprisingly spacious to him when he’d first entered, feeling larger than it appeared from the outside. Now, however, with no less than eight Captains Flint and Vane’s top crew members, plus John Silver and Jack Rackham, the space had shrunk significantly.

It was probably just him, Thomas realized. As he looked around at the various faces flickering in the lantern and candlelight they seemed barely less comfortable here than they appeared to him on a ship.

Tense, perhaps, but not uncomfortable.

James sat at the head of the kitchen table (on purpose, Thomas recalled) with Vane next to him. Jack sat next to Thomas on the other side and Silver sat at the opposite end. Standing around them were Billy Bones, Anne Bonny, Mr. Scott, Mr. DeGroot, Vane’s quartermaster (Mr. Sanson, if Thomas had heard correctly) and a couple more of Vane’s master crew.

They had gone back over everything he and James had learned from Emily Sutton, agreeing that after securing New Providence, the British fleet behind Eleuthera Island was the next priority. Now, however, Thomas listened attentively as James and Charles announced their proposal for a raid on Nassau to rid her of the British soldiers determined to occupy her until Hume could break their defenses by sea.

“We know there were originally eight warships on the other side of the island,” James was saying. “Four of them have been destroyed, cutting them in half. Even with more on the way their numbers as of right now aren’t overwhelming. Timing is everything. We need to be able to re-take New Providence before their reinforcements arrive. The rest of Hume’s plan has been ruined.”

James indicated Charles as he continued. “The Ranger has changed position and we’ve gained Hume’s two guard ships, the Pearl and the William. Along with my ship and Teach’s we have more than enough firepower to seriously damage anyone and anything on that beach.”

“You are suggesting an all out assault, then?” asked Silver. “Fire upon the soldiers in the port, the fort—all right. I’m all for that, but what about the ones who are not in Nassau? There’s certainly enough patrols scattered in the interior to either mount a force to retaliate, or, if they’re smart, to send word to Hume via homing pigeons.”

Thomas had thought of this as well after encountering the pigeon Teach had sent to them. No doubt he had stolen it from some unsuspecting soldiers.

“The pigeons we obviously can’t do anything about,” said Charles. “But that won’t matter once our attack is underway. It will begin in the village, away from the port. Then once Nassau is breached, that is when we send the rest of our armed force, our own militia, against the remaining soldiers.”

“Again, timing is everything,” chimed in James. “It will take the combined forces to defeat the soldiers.”

“And what size of force do you imagine will be sufficient for such an attack?” asked Jack. He was pulling at his finely cut black beard. Thomas saw he looked skeptical of the plan.

“Twenty-five or thirty men for the attack from the village, to join up with twenty-five more once they reach Nassau,” said James.

“That is most likely less than the number of remaining soldiers on the island,” said Jack, drumming his fingers over the table top.

“Someone’s got to man the ships, Jack,” Vane said impatiently.

“Precisely,” replied Jack, dark eyes looking to Vane. “Yet you will need key crew members—ourselves—split for both tasks, by land and by sea. Not so easy with so few.”

Thomas looked to James, who sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Vane leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“That’s part of the reason for this meeting,” Vane grunted.

Now Billy Bones chimed in for the first time, stepping forward from the middle of the room.

“Both the Marcus Aurelius and the Queen Anne are 42 to 48-gun warships. If there’s to be a successful attack each ship will need no less than twenty men per ship.”

“Bollocks,” said Anne. “They ain’t gonna be sailing at sea. Half that will do the job.”

Billy grew irritated. “Half that number will make fucking cannon fodder out of those ships.”

“Come now,” said Mr. DeGroot, stepping up to the table as well. “Anne has a point. The ships will barely need to raise sails. Just enough to get into position…”

“Riggers are not the problem,” said Mr. Scott. “I think Billy means the ships need their gunners more than anything. That means more than twenty men. That means at least forty to man even half those guns…”

“You ain’t never manned a single cannon by yourself, have you?” said Anne. Thomas heard the challenge in her voice. Mr. Scott pressed his lips tight together.

“I hardly see a single sailor to each cannon. That is ridiculous.”

Billy snorted in agreement.

“Listen to Ms. Master Gunner here,” he sneered at Anne.

Anne cussed at him. At that point Jack got into the argument and soon everyone was yelling at everyone. Thomas glanced over at James, who caught his look and rolled his eyes, slumping down into his chair. Well, Thomas thought. He sat up straighter, growing tense. James might have been comfortable with the rise of tensions, but from the looks of things—especially Anne’s behavior—Thomas worried that a fight would break out any moment. Silver rose from his chair.

“Excuse me, could everyone shut up and calm down?”

His words were lost, his voice not powerful enough to carry through the rising din of angry voices. Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when Charles slammed his palms down over the table. It was hard enough to shake the decanter of rum across from him and to cause the candelabra’s lights to spasm violently.

“Everyone shut the fuck up,” he bellowed.

The voices died down. Thomas dared to glance around the room. Billy and Anne looked as though they wanted to strangle one another. Mr. Scott was brooding, eyeing Anne through his brow. Jack stood tersely in front of his turned over chair. He picked it up and sat back down in it.

“Yes, thank you,” James droned. He ran a hand over his slicked back hair. Thomas relaxed and even manage to hide a grin behind his hand. Was it any wonder his lover became so stressed?

Charles grunted and pulled one of his cheroots out behind his ear. He held it out over the candelabra.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said James.

Charles looked at him, stilling his hand next to the candles. Thomas felt the tension rise again.

“Give me a fucking break,” Charles muttered. He stuck the cheroot in the flame. James dropped his relaxed posture and leaned forward. It seemed to Thomas as though the rest of the room leaned away from him. He saw Flint in James's eyes then, the thing that would leap out and draw first blood without hesitation. He did his best to throw James a disapproving look but James was fixated on Charles. Thomas found he did not care for the cheroot being lit in the house either; as its tendrils of smoke drifted up into the air it somehow felt offensive to him.

Then he remembered how Miranda had always complained of the stench of the cigars left behind at some of his salons. James, of course, knew that as well.

Vane finally relented. He put out the cheroot on the bottom of his boot. Jack Rackham let out a loud sigh and slapped his palms over the table.

“Yes well, back to business, ey?”

His interlude worked and seemed to drain away the remaining tension in the room.

“Look,” said James. “I know we are all on edge, but let’s not allow that to cloud our judgment.”

He looked specifically up at Anne and Billy. Anne sneered at no one in particular. Billy merely frowned at him, crossing his arms and shifting his feet. Seemingly satisfied, James leaned back in his chair again.

“The Walrus,” said Silver abruptly. All eyes turned to him.

“We are forgetting about the gold, floating like a beached whale in the harbor. We must take care not to allow her to get in the line of fire. Given that she’s sitting directly in the middle of the harbor that’s going to be difficult.”

“Difficult but not impossible,” James said. “A few heavily armed crew placed on Hume’s old guard ships to ensure that her remaining crew protect her.”

Silver raised a dubious eyebrow. “Use our already scant crew to force Hume’s to protect the Walrus?”

“It’s the only way to keep from having to use up another ten good men on a ship,” countered James. “There’s only a handful that survived the Pearl’s ambush, correct?”

He turned to Billy. Billy nodded.

“They’re being held as our prisoners on board already,” said James. “A handful of our own men is all that will be required to keep them that way.”

“Still, there’s no guarantee she won’t be hit, not if we pull this off proper,” said Vane. James nodded.

“I know. It’s a risk we’ll have to take. At least we’ll know where the gold is. The harbor isn’t more than forty feet deep at most. It is retrievable, should it come to that.”

Silence followed his statement. Thomas glanced around again. Evidently the idea of their precious gold sinking into the ocean at all didn’t set well with the crews.

“Yes, but even if that were to happen,” Jack slid in. His black eyes darted around the room. “We haven’t even taken stock of the two guard ships we’ve acquired. Not to mention whatever valuables the officers we’ll be attacking may have. There will still be items of value for the taking. And more ammunition for us.”

The other mean nodded. DeGroot, Scott and Sanson seemed satisfied with that point.

Thomas noted the relief that seeped into James’s features.

“Correct,” he said. “And once this is all over, there will be the ships we’ve already taken down to plunder; the ones sitting out there across from Eleuthera right now as we speak. Can you sell that to the crews?”

James looked to Charles. Charles nodded slowly. Then James looked to Billy. Billy uncrossed his arms. He squared his shoulders and seemed to relax more.

“Any chance to plunder the Brits at this point the men will agree with,” he said.

“Good then,” said James, beginning to rise. “It’s settled. Now all we need do is to relay to the men our plan to begin the attack the day after tomorrow, give them time to prepare…”

“Actually, there is one more item we need to discuss,” said Silver, also rising.

He threw Thomas a look and Thomas inhaled sharply. He knew what Silver meant to discuss. At long last, here it was. The subject James had been avoiding all this time. Thomas found himself as relieved as he was nervous.

“Oh?” said James, still standing. “What is it?”

Silver looked around the room grimly. He leaned over the table, iron leg making a soft thud as he shifted his footing. He looked directly at James. Thomas held his breath, leaning forward in his chair. He clasped his hands together and sat up straight, rusty echo of the nobleman still in him in times of stress.

“There is a matter that has quickly become a major concern to your—to our—crew,” Silver began. His blue eyes went to Thomas.

“Well what?” James asked impatiently when Silver seemed hesitant.

“The two of you,” he replied smoothly.

Thomas felt more than saw all eyes in the room on him. Ignoring them, he looked up at James. James sighed and rolled his eyes. Thomas could practically see him squirming. Yet there was no way for him to retreat this time so he sat back down.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” he replied curtly.

Silver held up his hands.

“Just listen for now.”

Now Thomas dared to look around the room. Anne of course was mostly nonchalant, though he was certain she was perhaps the most concerned, given the personal story she had related to him. Billy was frowning and looked tense all over again. Mr. Scott, on the other hand, as well as Vane’s men, looked suspicious. Thomas winced inwardly. They had no idea.

Vane, however, was smirking as Silver continued.

“A small but growing faction of the men are against your leadership because of the two of you. Billy can attest to that.”

Billy nodded. “It’s true. Fifteen, maybe twenty of them want a vote.”

“A vote for what, exactly?” asked James.

“For you to step down as captain. Possibly even to keel haul you. Said they won’t serve under a queer captain. Went on about the Bible and other bullshit.”

The words came tumbling out of Thomas’s mouth before Thomas could stop them; his ire had spiked before he could control it:

“And are those same men aware they have been serving under the exact same captain all this time? Have they considered that their sudden revelation changes absolutely nothing about their situation, past or present?”

“Thomas,” James said quietly but impatiently.

Thomas steadied himself. He had more to say but left it at that. Now he felt pairs of eyes positively burning into him. It mattered little to him, as it always had. He had no problem defending his lover publicly. He was more concerned about James's reaction.

“Yes,” Silver said slowly, clearly surprised by his outburst. “They did actually argue over that point, but it came to their attention that it is the future they’re worried about.”

He looked from Thomas to James.

“They’re worried that your… relationship will affect your judgment if Thomas is to remain by your side.”

James snorted. “I’m sure that is how delicately they said it.”

Silver averted his eyes, indicating that no, that was certainly not how they had discussed it. Thomas could only imagine the crude verses they’d spat out. He’d either heard them or had been called them all before: bugger, pillow biter, cocksucker, whore, and so on and so forth.

James ran a hand over his beard.

“Tell them they can go fuck themselves, how’s that for a reply?” he said.

“James!” Thomas snapped.

“What?” James snapped back stubbornly, meeting his gaze briefly—eyes dancing madly— before turning back to Silver and the rest of the room.

James was letting his feelings get the best of him, something Thomas had never witnessed happening when he was among his men. He should have expected it, yet even so this would get them nowhere.

“If they’re going to challenge me,” said James, “I can’t do anything about it.”

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you from the start,” Billy jumped in. He spoke with more passion now than Thomas had ever heard from the usually mild mannered and easy going bosun.

“You’ve got to convince them it’s in their best interest to keep you as captain, just like you always have,” he said. “You’ve not lost a speech yet.”

Thomas watched James eagerly. Billy’s point—which must have been true—seemed to stick with James, but still James argued the point.

“This is completely different. What am I to say in my defense against this? Nothing will change their minds on this, nothing. I’ve tried it in the past,” he added softly.

A quick look at the room revealed some intensely curious expressions. Thomas blinked at James, shocked that he would even vaguely mention his past, especially that part of it. He felt oddly exposed, as though the security blanket he had kept wrapped around himself and their collective past had just been peeled back, if even just the smallest bit.

“This is different,” continued Billy. “Different because it’s you personally that will be the subject up for a vote, not your leadership, not your lies or dishonesty. Just you. You’ve got to explain to them how it changes nothing for them, that you are still the same captain who got their gold, who took over a Spanish warship, who laid waste to Char—”

James held up his hand, looking pained.

“All right,” he said impatiently. Thomas saw him squirm.

Another bout of silence followed, until a chuckle came from Jack. He slapped his hand on the table, staring in awe at James.

“Ho-ly shit,” he drawled out. He looked around the room, still awe-struck. “I should have bloody guessed. This whole time.”

Jack jabbed a finger almost merrily at James, rising out of his chair.

You never, ever came to the brothels. You had the Barlow woman, but I always thought it strange how you never came to the broth—“

“Sit down and shut up unless you want your tongue removed from your head,” James interrupted him. Jack abruptly stopped talking. Thomas frowned at Vane, who was grinning ear to ear at Jack, evidently enjoying James putting him in his place.

Thomas felt suddenly dizzy. Would he ever come to understand the complex dynamics between the people James had spent the last decade around? He wasn’t sure he even wanted to. These men were all hardened criminals. At times he was keenly aware of it; at other times he’d let himself forget in light of the humanity at least some of them—most gathered here tonight—had shown.

It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps it was not only James's past that had turned him into the man he was now, it was also living day in and day out amidst these men—their views and ideals and behaviors gradually seeping into him here and there over time. How stupid of him not to have noticed it before. That being the case, he wondered if the opposite was not also true. Had these men been influenced by James, by whatever was left of McGraw?

As James and Silver continued discussing their options a thought crept swiftly through his mind, wrapping itself around his consciousness and offering a solution to the problem. He had only precious moments to discern if it was another demon coming to ravage him and set both of them unwittingly on a dark course, or if the idea would actually do some good.

James would hate the idea, probably be angry at him if he were to suggest it. Yet as Thomas sat there, surrounded in the candle light in his late wife’s house surrounded by pirates who had become his allies, he felt the entire room shift in his vision. For once, everything became simple and clear. Billy’s eyes glittered sharply, focused on what Silver was saying. He caught the scent of old sweet smoke coming off Vane, heard Anne whisper something to Jack. And there was James, who was the embodiment of Captain Flint as he spoke and gestured, sitting beside him. The men only knew him as Captain Flint and would only ever know him as such. Perhaps, Thomas thought, just perhaps, that was what needed to change.

“Tell them the truth.”

He interrupted whatever Silver had been saying.

“What?” asked Silver.

Thomas raised his eyes pointedly at James until he had the other man’s full attention. Thomas pressed his lips together and took a breath. A breath before the plunge, he thought.

“Tell them your story,” he said slowly, raising his voice so that all present heard. “If you tell the men how exactly you were cast out of the navy, of England, it will change their perception of you totally…”

Already James was shaking his head.

“No,” he cut Thomas off. “That will only serve to weaken me before them. Give some of them something to hold over my head at a future date.”

“You cannot think like that all the time,” retorted Thomas. “Those are only dim worries at the moment. If you speak to them as Captain Flint, they’ll already have judged you. If you go to them as speak as James Mc—“

“I said no,” said James with a hard edge in his tone. His jade eyes turned into steel to match the voice but Thomas wasn’t deterred. He switched tactics, turning to look at the bosun.

“Mr. Bones, is this not what you yourself are suggesting?”

Billy dropped his crossed arms, caught off guard to be suddenly the focal point of the conversation. His dark eyes darted back and forth between himself and James. Thomas held his breath. If he could get Billy to agree with him he’d have a better chance against his lover’s never-ending stubbornness.

Billy looked down at the floor. James huffed out a sigh.

“This isn’t going to work. We don’t have time—“

“It is what I’m suggesting, actually,” said Billy. He seemed spurred into confidence by James's protest. He looked at his captain.

“I don’t know shit about your past, but if he’s right…” Billy jerked his head towards Thomas. “…Then it sounds like you’ll have a good chance against that faction to at least keep your head, if not your captaincy. And we need you for this fight.”

James opened his mouth but Anne Bonny spoke up next. She’d taken her hat off so that more of her plain but pretty face was revealed in the candle light.

“I agree,” she said, giving a nod to Thomas. Thomas smiled openly at her, grateful for her support. James looked miserable. Jack looked up at Anne, then back to everyone at the table.

“I’m sorry, but clearly I’m missing something,” he said. “We were talking about Flint being a pillow biter and now we are discussing some mysterious past involving the navy?”

“It’s a long fucking story,” James said flatly. “One I don’t think the men are going to want to listen to, especially in a time of unrest.”

“Why are you so fucking hesitant?”

The question had come from Charles. He sat facing James, an ankle resting over his knee. The challenge in his tone was obvious. Good, thought Thomas. Someone who can rile him up, maybe get him to see…

James raised a dubious eyebrow at the other captain.

“Are you serious?”

“You were kicked out of England for being a sodomite,” said Charles. “England, our enemy, the country who has done wrong by all of us here. Do you really think that other pirates are going to condemn you over that, over something seen by their enemy as wrong? They’ll vote to keep you on just to spite England. It’s a small faction, not the majority of your crew. Just fucking tell them whatever the fuck so we can move on.”

Thomas watched tersely as James glowered at Vane, upper lip curling. But then his eyes moved to stare at the space next to him and Thomas knew then he was not angry with Charles, that he was actually considering this.

Then Thomas's chest dropped when James turned to look at him and said, “No. I’ll tell them a story, as I always have, something to gain their sympathies, but nothing more. None of us wants to deal with the threat of another mutiny, not this time. Everything is on the line.”

James looked out to the room, receiving mostly nods from both crews, including Mr. Scott and Mr. DeGroot. Thomas clenched his teeth. Damn. No, he wasn’t done yet. He rose from his chair, leaning heavily against the table on his palms. He fixed a determined gaze on James.

“I will ask you to reconsider this one last time.”

James looked up at him, a touch of soft vulnerability peeking through his grim stubbornness.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

His fury spiked again and again Thomas let it loose. James had become an expert at self torture, and there seemed no end to it, unless something radical happened. He jabbed a finger at James.

“If you do not do this you will end up regretting it, adding one more item to you damned list of things you should have done but were too damn *stubborn* to do!”

“We are no longer discussing this, it is not an issue,” James yelled back, staring at the table before them as though he meant to shatter it with his gaze.

“Yes it *bloody well is* an issue, even if you’re being too stupid to acknowledge it as such,” Thomas fired back. “You must realize—”

James shot out of his chair and locked eyes with him. Thomas saw the bottled up rage there, longing to escape.

“We are done and I’ll hear nothing more about it!” he bellowed.

Furious, more furious he’d been in a long time, Thomas slammed the side of his fist on the table.

“God damn you,” he said. His heart felt like it was going to pound through his chest; he could practically feel the vein on the side of neck pulsing. A wave of heat swept through him as he turned on his heel and marched to the door. He slammed it shut behind him, shaking the walls. He walked off the porch and around to the side of the house.

“*Fuck.*”

He rarely used the word because he rarely got angry enough. Now, however, he wanted to yell it out at the top of his lungs over and over.

Vane had been right. It was a small faction that wanted James dead or off his ship. If he could convince the rest of his crew to keep him despite his sexuality all would be well. Now, Thomas could only see James failing in that. He had grown to trust Billy Bones and John Silver’s judgment where Captain Flint and his ship was concerned, and if *they* doubted another one of James's routine speeches would work…

Thomas leaned against the side of the house and closed his eyes. A familiar dull ache came to his head. Just what he needed to add to the night.

He wanted to go back inside, march right up to James, grab his shoulders and shake him, plead and beg with him to listen. Perhaps then James would do it, for his sake if not his own.

Instead he slid down the side of the house until he was sitting. It would do no good to go back inside at all in his current mood.

_____________________________________


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas thrusts James into the limelight with the best intentions. James's captaincy, his relationship with Thomas, and possibly his life all hang in the balance. This chapter is super angsty so be prepared.

Nassau, interior camp

 

James walked in front of the encampment, double checking that all was well with it. It was late; into the small hours of the morning, and most of the men were sleeping. No fires had been lit of course and they had stayed as quiet as possible. He nodded to a few of them who were still awake, sitting or lying down and whittling or talking softly amongst themselves. There were a limited number of tents to be had so most of the twenty-five souls slept out in the open with little more than their hammocks to lay on.

It had taken three or so hours to load up all the launches of the ships with both men and supplies and get them safely to the island, then to trek to the open area he and Charles had agreed upon for camp. It was roughly a hundred yards from the house, protected from view by the long stretch of woods to the west. To the east lay mostly the rocky cliffs that ran into the sea and the swamps, both of which made the terrain there most undesirable for the Brits’ presence. A quick reconnaissance had proven this to be the case.

He was tired. Not exhausted, but tired. His argument with Thomas had put his stomach in knots and he’d hardly eaten anything for supper. After the council meeting had closed Billy had lingered behind. He had pressed the idea again, gently, and James had been moved by his urgency, but not enough to risk it. He had almost considered giving in during the meeting when both he and Anne had joined with Thomas, had worried that the others would also agree and then he’d be left with little choice. The very thought of telling his crew his past was enough to make his stomach churn more than it already was.

He had thought himself over this need to protect himself. He had already faced judgment so many times—from the earl, from Peter Ashe, from the fucking admiralty itself, from the townsfolk of Charlestown. It should not have fazed him to face it before his fellow pirates. James sighed miserably.

It was the thing in his chest, the ugly black thing that reared its head when he least wanted it to. *Shameful.* The look on Admiral Hennessy’s face, the disappointment there…

James shuddered. It would never leave him, that look and the feelings it had invoked in him that day. He had never dreamed of feeling so humiliated, never dreamed that what he shared with Thomas could ever be seen as anything other than the greatest gift of all.

For all the times people might have thought Thomas naïve—including himself—it was himself who had been more naïve back then.

*No,* a voice in his head cut through his gloom. *Not naïve. In love. Hopelessly, desperately in love.*

And he still was, yet now he hated his old self and wished that some of Flint had existed back then to pull James McGraw back in line before it was too late, to keep him from ever taking his thoughts to the admiral. Perhaps then…

James shook his head. No. He would not allow himself to wallow in the guilt that sprung from his past. Thomas was right in that, at least. It only dragged him down, made him weak. *Weak.*

He had told them at the meeting that is how the men would perceive him if he’d agreed to Thomas's plan. It was always on the forefront of his mind to appear strong at all times, whether he was sick or drunk or laughing or pissing. It didn’t matter; he could not show weakness. He had before and it had led to mutiny.

*That’s an excuse,* the voice said. *An excuse not to do the right thing.*

He had reached the end of the camp. He paused and walked out towards the beach. It was still a good five hundred yards or so away but when he climbed up on one of the first outcroppings of boulders and sat at its top he could see the vast waters of the ocean. Well, he could see the flat emptiness of the black horizon at any rate, stretching out in both directions for as far as his eyes could see.

Perhaps it was an excuse.

He sighed and stared out into the night. If he concentrated he could hear the sound of the ocean just barely. He closed his eyes and focused on it. It calmed him, centered him. It brought back memories of childhood and his first experiences with the sea, of holding a conch to his ear and delighting in the sound, of going on fishing trips with his grandfather before he’d passed.

James opened his eyes and met the black nothingness before him with some serenity. He was eager to mend things between him and Thomas, but he needed a clear head and some sleep. With those things in mind he climbed off the boulders after another few minutes and began the walk back.

***

 

Once he’d made up his mind it was easier. Easier to walk into the encampment with Silver rousing up the men, easier to convince himself James would forgive him, that he was doing the right thing even when he knew it was happening the wrong way.

Easier too, once enough of the crews were gathered together to pour himself a drink of rum.

Silver gently woke them, telling them it was urgent news. They were groggy and irritable but once word went around that the news had to do with Captain Flint and himself, Thomas saw they seemed to perk up.

They surrounded the clearing where an unkempt mass of supplies from the ship sat, including extra rigging and barrels of food stuffs. He and Silver scattered some candles around. Silver shuffled a barrel out from the pile and nodded at Thomas, stepping to the side. All eyes followed Silver, then turned to Thomas.

“What the fuck?”

“We’re gonna hear from his whore?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“This ought to be interesting!”

Thomas waited patiently, letting their murmurs of surprise die down. He stood next to the barrel but didn’t sit down. Suddenly he felt like he was at one of his salons getting ready to speak. He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment and let the sense of déjà vu overtake him, give him strength. These men, while drastically different than the educated and intellectual crowds he was used to, would nonetheless cling to his every word regardless of whether or they agreed with him. He still had to proceed carefully. For James.

Shamed though he was, he took a sip from his flask to screw up his strength. A small amount of liquor had always inflamed him during salons, given his tone and rhetoric a certain vitality. Just a small amount.

“Apologies for the time,” he said loudly. They quieted.

“…But this could not wait. I won’t bore you with unnecessary prattle, except to introduce myself to all of you properly. Captain Flint has told you I am Thomas Hamilton, an old friend and ally from the Virginia colonies. He’s told you that I have agreed to aid you in fighting off the British. I am indeed Thomas Hamilton and the latter is true. I am an ally. But the former…”

Thomas paused, licking his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd. He had their attention. He carefully sat his drink down on the barrel and left his hand on it, twisting it over the wood.

“The former is not true,” he continued. “I’m going to tell you a story. A story about a man named Thomas Hamilton and a navy lieutenant named McGraw. It is also a story about England, a very specific story with specific people and specific places. Specific wrongs that were done to these people. And then I am going to let you all decide *not* if Captain Flint is deserving or worthy of being your captain and not whether you like him more or less after my story. You are going to decide whether or not England is deserving or worthy of pardon or punishment, whether or not you like England more or less, and how much of an asset Captain Flint really is to you. But no matter how much I seem to put these choices in your hands, the truth is, you are all going to hate England more after my story, because it could just as easily be your story.”

Thomas pointed to a random man in the crowd, then another.

“Or your story. Or yours.”

Many of the faces seemed to grow somber now, beginning to take him seriously. More of the whispering he’d been hearing died completely down. At last, it was time to begin. He took another sip, then planted the glass on the barrel and stood in front of it, eyeing them all. This was his salon, his words. James's fate.

*I’m sorry James. Please don’t hate me.*

He began.

***

 

James trudged up to the edge of the encampment. All dark and peaceful still. All things considered, the men had all done remarkably well so far, even with remaining quiet. Pirate crews weren’t exactly known for being sly, yet at some point they seemed to understand that following orders without question this time around was more important than it had ever been before. For that James was grateful; it was one less thing he had to deal with…or so he thought.

As he neared the encampment he saw a lot of light coming from somewhere towards the center; too much light for one or two candles. He frowned. No doubt several of them had gathered together to sneak some drink in while on land. He and Charles had both spoke to their people and had specifically forbidden any drinking. Where the fuck was Silver? He was supposed to be among them tonight.

“Damnit,” he muttered. He changed direction and walked towards the camp. He was too tired for this shit. He would break in and give them a good yelling at, maybe threaten them with a flogging. He would let them know he meant business.

He was no more than a couple of tents away from the source of the light when he saw that a much larger crowd was gathered and they were not drinking nor making merry. They were deadly quiet. He stopped short and listened to the single voice that carried through the night.

What the fuck?

James stayed behind a darkened tent. No one had even turned in his direction. A second look revealed that it was practically the entire encampment that was gathered. They were all fixated on the speaker who stood before them, listening intently. James clenched his jaw. He walked around to the other side of the tent, where there was a much smaller view of the gathering available but where he was much closer. John Silver stood directly in front of him, his one foot planted up on a crate, the iron one firmly on the ground.

Odd to see Silver doing the listening and not the talking. He seemed as fixated on the tale being told as the crews, and what a tale was being told.

James felt chills crawl over his arms. He stifled a moan, closing his eyes. What. The fuck was Thomas doing?

The words came smoothly and confidently out of his mouth as though he were speaking about English politics, the state of Spain or the most popular philosophical ideas of the day. How many times had James longed to hear Thomas speak like that again? How often he had gone back to those few happy memories of their collective past, when Thomas's voice alone could soothe him, make his worries disappear, make him become intoxicated to watching his lover take center stage, winning everyone over…

But to hear him do so now, with what was coming out of his mouth made James want to curl up into himself and shrink away.

“…with Miranda, Thomas Hamilton’s wife,” Thomas was saying. “The same woman you knew as Miranda Barlow, who is now dead at the hands of the British. It wasn’t long after that the Hamiltons accepted the lieutenant in as their closest friend and confidant. And Lieutenant McGraw went above and beyond his calling as my liaison; he stood against my father, the earl, at great personal risk to himself and his career. It was that devotion—that determination and bravery— that made me see past all the formalities and politics, perhaps the only person to truly see him for who he was…”

James stumbled back, feeling weak in his legs. An overwhelming impulse took hold of him to dash out, grab Thomas and clamp a hand over his mouth. Of course he couldn’t. He couldn’t even calmly or angrily go amongst them and ask Thomas to stop. Too late. They would see the truth for themselves the moment he did so. Bad enough they were even hearing it.

Panic seized him. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, breathing becoming short. No, no, no, not now. He sat down on the cool ground behind the tent and took long and steady breaths. His hands slid up to cover his ears, pressing against them in an attempt to focus and drown out Thomas.

“Fuck.”

It passed. Gradually his breathing—while not quite normal—became less panic induced. He did not become light headed. He looked up and slowly stood again. He listened as the story neared its tragic end. Then, he realized with growing horror, the men would vote.

“…And word was sent out that I was dead, having given into my grief that my wife was having an affair with Lieutenant McGraw. My father and his allies in Whitehall, you see, had organized the lie, had told me that the lieutenant died at sea. So you see, the highest-ranking members of both the navy and Parliament conspired to keep me away from the lieutenant, who was still very much alive.

Now, however, he is not the man I was with all those years ago. No, the lieutenant had changed. He become someone else after hearing about my incarceration and death. He and my wife decided to travel here, to Nassau, the very place they had fought so hard for. Initially they did it out of pure spite and rage, as I’m sure you all would understand. This island was one of the few remaining places where McGraw and Mrs. Hamilton could seek out the revenge they both desperately sought, the place where McGraw could get revenge against not only those who had wronged him but revenge against the very institution from which those men had come from: England herself.”

Enough, thought James. They’ve heard enough.

Weakly he walked past the tent, startling Silver as he drew up beside him. James barely glanced at him before turning to the center of the gathering crowd. He felt all twenty-five pairs of eyes turn to him, a wave of chatter coming with the stares.

Twenty-five pairs of eyes, plus one sapphire pair.

Thomas turned. James registered a quick flash of something—surprise, fear, he wasn’t certain—pass over Thomas's face before the look vanished and he regarded James with a neutral expression. James's eyes followed the motion of Thomas's hand as he picked up a glass filled with dark liquid and took a drink.

“Ah, captain,” he said. “I was just finishing up my story.”

James said nothing. He didn’t know what to say, to think, to feel, other than weak in his legs. Their gazes were burning into him, ripping him open, raping him silently. He felt naked. He hoped they could not discern the color of his cheeks in the dim light under his beard and under the ever-constant layer of daily grime on his face.

“Go on,” he heard himself say.

Thomas's gaze never left his as he continued his story. Miraculously his voice did not waver, though his gaze on James looked haunted.

“And this man, whose given name is actually James McGraw, ceased to be a navy man on that day. He became something else, someone else, and so did I.”

Louder murmurs, gasps.

Some clarity had returned to him. The immediate embarrassment and shame faded, only to be replaced by a growing anger. He blinked and dared to look around the crowd. Most of them did not shy away from his angry gaze this time but instead were staring at him with wonder, bafflement, even hatred. He turned back to Thomas. His eye twitched. Still Thomas went on.

“So I ask you now, friends,” Thomas concluded, wrenching his eyes away from him at last, “not to judge Captain Flint on the basis of something so petty as sex, but instead to consider how it is he came to be here, how we came to be here. How many of you have a similar story? How many of you have felt so wronged by English society? I ask you to remember how you came to be here, and then—I dare you—stand in judgment of him.”

James saw the reactions in the crowd. They were every bit as moved—one way or the other—by Thomas’s rhetoric as anything either he or Silver had told them. More so. His speech was superb, enthralling, and utterly devastating.

A chorus of chatter erupted then and a group of men stepped out from the rest. James recognized one of them as one of the three men who had assaulted Thomas on the Aurelius during his first time aboard. James recalled all too vividly how he had let his rage take over him and had beaten the crew member to a pulp. Now he couldn’t even remember his name.

The man was joined with others. The energy in the clearing suddenly came to life, tense and tight as everyone began clamoring.

“Captain.”

It was John. James didn’t know how many times John had been whispering his name. James merely looked at him. Silver’s lips were parted but nothing came out. He looked with open concern at James.

“What the fuck can I do? I’m fucked,” he snapped.

Lips forming a tight frown, Silver stepped forward and raised his arms for quiet. Before he could speak a man from the faction stepped out. James recognized him as Mr. Cooper, knowing the name only because he’d been a rising star amongst Billy’s riggers. Now, it seemed, he was also the ring leader in the dissent against him.

“We’ve heard the whore’s little story,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. James felt a bolt of fury tighten his chest. He reminded James of Mr. Singleton; tall and bald, eyes like a wolf’s. He narrowed them at James.

“Now it’s our turn to speak.”

He indicated the group behind him, who all eagerly nodded and pumped their fists. At least fifteen of them, the high end of what Billy had said.

Cooper stepped up until he had the floor, only a few feet from James. Thomas had backed up slightly. James ignored him for the time being, needing to make certain the man before him wasn’t out for blood.

Cooper leered at him, pointing a finger.

“Of course his whore wants you to think there’s nothing wrong with him,” he bellowed into the crowd. “The two of them are thick as thieves, fuckin’ each other and suckin’ each other’s cocks.”

Crude laughter, crude mummers. James felt his anger coming to a boil, awakening that other dark thing inside him, the thing that would not hesitate to kill if so provoked. Cooper went on, walking around the edge of the crowd, finger continuing to jab at the air between them as though it were a knife aimed to wound.

“The whore asks you to remember where you all came from,” he said. “I ask you to remember the same…and how you were raised. Don’t matter if you didn’t have parents or not; we all know God’s word. We might not be shining examples of good men, but we sure as shit ain’t a bunch of buggers!”

That got the group behind him completely riled up. They whooped and hollered and seemed to have already condemned him. Ugly flashes of his time spent chained and on display in Charlestown came to James along with a feeling of an utter loss of power and control. His face burned with indignity. He stood frozen, staring at the vile creature before him.

No amount of his own shame could ever eclipse the rage he felt when someone insulted what he and Thomas shared. Never.

“We was taught it wasn’t no small sin,” Cooper continued, “We was taught it was one of the worst sins, just like killin’ yourself. And you all…”

He swept his hand along the rest of the crowd, indicating Billy, Mr. Scott, Mr. DeGroot, and everyone else James might have had a glimmer of hope for to be united with him.

“…You all want to follow a bugger into battle? You’ll all go to hell along with them for certain! No amount of fucking Hail Mary’s will save you from that. And you,”

Cooper thrust his long finger at Thomas, all but snarling at him.

“You’re the cause of all this. I say we get rid of him as well!”

Cooper’s group roared in agreement, this time with a few members of the rest of the crews. From the corner of his eye James saw Silver and Billy and a few others tense. He noticed for the first time there were a large number of men not smiling or jeering at all, men whose lips frowned at Cooper and the show he was putting on. The glimmer of hope grew in him, but so too did the rage as Cooper now shifted his wolf-like countenance to Thomas. He took a step toward Thomas and something snapped in James, like a twig covered in frozen water, suddenly released of its paralyzing prison.

He broadsided Cooper, not overtly stepping between him and Thomas but inserting himself in the space between them all the same. He sneered at the taller man. The words he spoke came out loud and clear.

“I don’t give a shit what you think about me or Thomas,” he said. “You’ve had your say. Now it’s my turn.”

When Cooper didn’t back off it was Silver who gingerly stepped up and intervened.

“All parties will be heard,” he said firmly, aiming a stern look at Cooper. For the first time James took notice of the command Silver demanded with the look. Cooper backed up but didn’t lose the ice cold stare he had on James. James ignored him and turned to the crowd.

“You all have been told to remember how you came to be here, how you were raised to believe what you believe. Now I’m asking whether or not any of it matters out here. We struggle to survive here, something those safe and sound and tucked into their fucking beds in England cannot understand. Even the street urchin there has less to fear at night than we do. With such a struggle, we all also know how rare, how fleeting any true pleasures in life are.”

James paused, taking in everyone’s faces. He did his best to ignore Thomas, who stood like a statue off to his left. He knew those sapphire eyes were brazenly watching him. If he met them he would falter, so he swept over them.

“I care not who, where or how any of you fuck,” he continued. He took another pause.

“Some of you like only negro women, Mr. Tyson.”

James nodded in the direction he saw the gunner he spoke of, his voice neutral. All eyes turned to the younger man, who managed a smile through his reddened face.

“Some of you like Spanish women not yet twenty, Mr. Murray,” said James. Again he nodded and singled out the crewman, standing across from Tyson. Murray was much older than James, enough to make James's claim most scandalous but it was also something his friends already knew. Tyson looked around nervously as those next to him chuckled and slapped his back.

“And some of you even fuck dairy goats,” said James.

This received nervous laughter and some snickers but most of the men remained deadly quiet. All who had been in the galley that day Silver had made his announcements remembered the humorous moment well, yet now James watched as it took on new meaning for them. He hoped.

“With that in mind,” he said. “I ask you then, what the fuck does any of it have to do with how you operate on my ship? How you fulfill your duties, how you serve in battle, how you make your mark in this life as a sailor, pirate or otherwise?”

With relief James saw this had a more marked effect on the men who were not part of Cooper’s faction. He caught DeGroot and Billy’s eyes for a few seconds. They nodded at him.

In the next few seconds James turned until he found Silver, who also nodded at him, ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth. More relief filled him, more than he would have thought possible at this small but significant group of his men, men he had come to rely on more than he’d known—until now.

“Enough of this bullshit!”

Cooper’s enraged outcry broke through the moment. The men behind him began yelling out condemnations and curses, crying for a vote. James felt Silver next to him again.

“All those in favor of a vote, say ‘I’.”

Everyone spoke up. Silver nodded at Cooper.

“Mr. Cooper, you may set the terms of the vote, if you please.”

Now Cooper grinned, flashing his teeth. He stuck his thumbs in his belt and swaggered.

“Since it looks like this crew still wants you alive, that’ll be off the table.”

His men behind him groaned.

“However, now I say we vote to depose Captain Flint. Then maybe I’ll challenge him personally if he’s deposed,” said Cooper, sneering at James.

James's burst of clarity faltered. He felt weakness overtake him again. His throat was dry as parched wheat. He needed to get out of here, away from everyone. He held Cooper’s stare a moment longer, not giving any ground. Cooper turned away from him to his men.

As soon as Silver announced that voting would begin shortly and the attention was deflected away from James, he turned and left the gathering the way he’d entered. He weaved his way through the tents as swiftly as possible without running. He’d barely gotten clear of the encampment when he heard someone running up behind him.

“James! Wait.”

James ignored Thomas. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He need open space, to be alone. The rage inside was boiling him, making him sweat.

“James!”

“Don’t!” he spat out over his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

Thomas caught up to him a few yards away from the house. He grabbed James's arm to stop him, coming to stand in front of him. James looked away from his face. Tears burned in his eyes.

“I mean it, Thomas, get away from me.”

Thorns in his throat, in his chest. Thomas's voice turned pleading. James could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“James, please. I only did what had to be done, what was necessary.”

A strangled, mirthless laugh escaped him. He tried moving past Thomas but Thomas refused to let him go.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me, I know it was hard for you, but I did it for you, for us! It was the only way. James…”

“What you did…”

James slowed to a crawl, then stood still after brushing Thomas off again. He bowed his head, feeling light-headed.

“What you did," he repeated. "You ruined us! You ruined me!”

He spun around and looked fully at Thomas, letting his own anguish rise up to the surface alongside his rage; two twin tidal waves that could not be stopped. Thomas was vehemently shaking his head.

“No. I did not. Goddamnit, James, you’re so fucking stubborn! I am trying to save you!”

“By letting my entire crew know that I’m a sodomite? Fucking wonderful, Thomas, just wonderful! It doesn’t even matter what the vote is, because all it takes, Thomas, all it takes is one of those men, a year from now, a month from now, to use this against me! One whisper to the navy, to England, and if they capture me…”

Thomas wrung his hands, face red.

“For God’s sake, James. Sometimes I think you like this; you enjoy your own goddamn misery and suffering! Well have at it, fucking drown in it!”

He heard an anguished cry escape his lips as he raised a fist and sent it flying into Thomas's face, hitting him square in the jaw hard enough to send him stumbling backwards in his intoxicated state. A small cry came from him. He caught himself with a hand backwards over the ground, blood coming from his lip.

His own blood was on fire, and now so was his heart. Christ Almighty, what was he doing? A raw whisper passed over his lips:

“No.”  
Thomas staggered back up, hand cradling his face. James squeezed his eyes shut and turned and walked away, towards the house. He staggered himself, though not from drink. Fiery pain flooded his senses as the twin tidal waves finally crashed over the jagged parts of his heart, filling his wounds with salt.

He scarcely was aware of barging through the door and shutting it; maybe he didn’t even shut it. He came into the house and grabbed the decanter of rum off the table. He went into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind him and fell to the floor against the bed. He uncorked the dark glass container and took a long swallow until its burn coated the burning in his chest.

His eyes came to rest on the bottom drawer of the dresser, the one that no longer contained his lieutenant’s uniform. It was bare, empty.

He threw the decanter hard. It slammed into the drawer and shattered instantly, drenching the wood in dark, splattered liquid.

***


	17. Chapter 17

He awoke later than usual the next morning. He groaned as he rolled over and got out of bed, still wearing his coat and boots and belt. He was riddled with little aches and pains. His neck was sore. There was a cut on his forearm. His knuckles were red and painful from where he’d hit Thomas…

He leaned heavily against the bedpost, closing his eyes as his grotesque action from last night ran through his brain. How could he? There was no excuse for it. He wouldn’t blame Thomas if he never forgave him, no matter what he thought about what Thomas had done.

He carefully stepped over the broken glass of the rum decanter and opened the bedroom door. All was quiet down the hallway. He looked across the room to the guest door. It was shut. Stepping quietly over to it he very carefully clasped the knob and tried to turn it. Locked. His heart fell even more in his chest. For some reason the locked door nearly sent him into another panic mode.

They had never disagreed like this before, had never even come close to such a heated confrontation. And he’d never hit Thomas.

James went back into the bedroom and scanned the bookcase until he found La Galanta. He took the book and placed it on the floor against the door.

He’d no sooner made it to the living room than a rough knock came from the front door. Silver was there.

“They’ve voted,” he said.

***

 

The book fell against Thomas’s foot when he opened the door. He winced as he bent down to pick it up. It made his head throb even more. He shut the door again, deciding he wasn’t quite ready to face the day.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, book in his lap. He rested his palm over its cool leathery cover for a long time, staring down at it.

His jaw ached. He’d not looked at it yet but he could feel how it must appear; swollen and purple, no doubt. His bottom lip was warm where it was split and also sore to the touch. He could scarcely believe James had hit him.

In fact, he could scarcely believe any of what had transpired last night: His own actions, James's…any of it. Dear God, he’d held a salon to a bunch of pirates, speaking to them about his feelings towards their captain, no less. Even back home he’d never imagined speaking about sexuality to his peers, though perhaps the idea had crossed his mind. Even he knew his idealism had its limits and that no one would accept that particular idea as something that actually existed in the world, that two men could love each other, that sex wasn’t limited to black and white views…

…That three people could all love each other and could build a life together, however brief it had lasted.

And yet, despite the faction that had risen up against him and James, most of the men had tolerated the news, even accepted it. Such things were possible in places like this, away from the choking iron grip of “civilized” society.

It should have made him feel better, immeasurably better. Perhaps if it were other people’s lives he’d been revealing and not his own it would have, but all Thomas could feel was regret and sorrow. It was a deep sorrow, the kind that buried itself down inside him to stay. He couldn’t believe he’d driven James to such desperation. He well remembered the look of anguish on his lover’s face when he had first stepped into the clearing. The look of complete disbelief in his eyes had nearly derailed Thomas's entire line of thought, of speech. Disbelief and hurt. That had been expected. He’d known James would be so very upset, yet the look on his face just before he had raised his fist was of something that had shattered inside the other man.

He sighed miserably and flopped back down on the bed, tossing the book beside him. Yes, he’d wounded James deeply. He curled into a ball on the bed, fighting back the tears. The pain would have been less, he knew, if it weren’t for the fact that James had already been wounded deeply several times over.

Had he done the right thing? If Cooper and his faction lost the vote and James kept his captaincy and his crew, what about the two of them? Had he gone too far again?

Thomas wiped a hand over his face, letting out another sigh. What if the past was repeating itself, and he’d once again managed to aid in destroying James all over again?

Well, he thought. I cannot survive this life without him.

He didn’t allow his thoughts to wander past that singular fact. He’d been down that road before while in Bethlam and he did not wish to tread it again.

Thomas sat up and looked down at the book. A stray tear fell down his face. His throat was clogged with emotion that he tried to swallow down. He picked up the book and opened its first page. There it was, scrawled into the top right corner:

I’m sorry.

“Oh,” he moaned. More tears stung his eyes. He shut the book and cradled it to his chest, lying back down again.

 

When he did finally emerge from the bedroom and into the main part of the house Thomas found half of it in ruins. James was nowhere to be seen. There were large and small pieces of glass everywhere, some of it colored and ceramic, some of it clear. A wooden chair from the table had been thrown and smashed against the divan and wall, another upturned in the middle of the floor. He closed his eyes and sighed as another bout of heavy guilt descended over him and hung there like a thick fog.

He had been so cruel last night, telling James he was happy in his misery and then telling him to drown in it. Jesus. Perhaps he’d picked up some of his late father’s capacity for cruelty after all. The thought was enough to make him want to gag. It would be easy to blame it all on the drink, he knew, but in truth he’d not had barely two glasses of rum by the time he was finished with his grandiose speech. It was enough to color his cheeks and enough to make him careless (which he had been), but not enough to make him cruel. That was all him.

He ate some hardtack and jerky and headed outside. As he neared the encampment the activity around it increased. He recognized both Flint’s and Vane’s crew bustling about, sharpening blades and loading up on rifles and pistols, dividing them up. Food and other provisions were also being divided, then stored away again for mobility. He saw a few groups of younger men—barely more than boys, really—listening intently to the words of their elders about combat and fighting strategies.

Thomas also counted at least six men surrounding the outer edges of all the activity, silently scanning the interior of the island. No doubt they’d been posted as the watch to look out for the British.

Then he spotted Anne Bonny, sparring with another crew mate some yards away. He watched her for a moment, following the movements her short sword made as it sliced elegantly through the air at its opponent. She looked up and caught his gaze. She said something to her opponent and they ceased practice. Thomas walked over to her.

“I’m far from an expert, but you looked to be in good form, as they say,” he told her. Anne re-sheathed her sword. She had shed her long coat and hat and was now sweating under the increasingly hot tropical sun.

“The only way to keep from bein’ in bad form is to keep it up,” she replied, unscrewing the lid to a canteen and taking a drink. She offered it to him but he declined.

“I heard what happened last night,” she said after a beat.

Thomas tried not to laugh bitterly. “I’m sure everyone knows by now.”

“’Course they do. It wasn’t no small thing. They all know you challenged Flint in a way, that he didn’t want you to go to his crew like that.”

“You were at the council meeting. You know he never would have allowed it.”

Anne shrugged. “You did what you thought was necessary. Flint’s always hated not being in control, always had a temper about certain things. If you’d been anyone else, I’d imagine he would have strung you up and left you to rot for what you did.”

“I imagine you would be right.”

“He still pissed at you?”

Thomas laughed through his nose despite himself. Anne had a vague but succinct way of putting things that he could appreciate.

“Yes. I have yet to see him today.”

Anne turned and pointed to one of the makeshift tents.

“He’s been under that canvas all morning, double-checking everything. Been quiet,” she added, looking at him. Thomas frowned. He did not wish to think about James just yet.

“Would you have a moment to teach me?” he asked, nodding down at her scabbard.

She graced him with a true grin, making all her masculine bravado drop away for a moment to allow Thomas to see the feminine beauty underneath.

“That one sharp?” she asked, indicating his own scabbard. Thomas unsheathed the cutlass he’d taken from James's personal stash. He felt its grip. The edge of the blade glinted in the sun.

“It is,” he said.

***

 

At noon all the men rested. Spring was quickly becoming summer and with it the hottest temperatures of the year. All of New Providence practically came to a halt during the hottest part of the day, especially pirate crews doing manual labor. Despite the immediate threat they faced James had decided that today should be no different in this regard. He wondered if the officers stationed in Nassau had enough foresight to order their men to do the same. Some of them, especially the ones who had never spent much time in the West Indies, would attempt to keep operating, sweating to death under those thick coats and hats. The thought made him smirk. God forbid they would ever show a little skin for the sake of their health.

He entertained that thought longer than was needed. Any thought was better than the ones his mind constantly kept returning to. Like trying to steer a ship through uncooperative winds he couldn’t get over the punch he’d given Thomas.

Thomas had pissed him off when he’d said he wanted his misery. It was hurtful, cruel. Perhaps a little true. And he’d driven Thomas into his own rage, he now realized.

And yet the vote had gone his way. Silver had told him this morning on the porch that the crew would keep him as captain, with eighteen in favor—including Silver, Billy Bones, and Mr. Scott— and ten against. He’d have to find a way to appease the other half of his crew who awaited the coming battle on board the Aurelius later since they hadn’t been involved. At least it would be a predictable problem: Some would be pissed, some would be mildly agitated and some wouldn’t even care.

James sighed. He shoved all his charts and maps of Nassau and New Providence out of the way. He knew every inch of his island like he knew his hand. He got up and left the center of the encampment to see what everyone was doing. Out past the clearing and where the grass grew tall again he spotted Anne Bonny and Thomas. He blinked in surprise. She was dueling with him. Well, not quite. Pirates didn’t exactly duel the way “proper” men did; it was dirtier.

He stood and watched. Even from a distance Anne appeared to be a good teacher, letting him have a good go at it, then pausing to instruct at regular intervals. She would have to be as good as a man, he mused, to have survived in this place as long as she had.

Then James remembered her words to him, that she wouldn’t have to protect Thomas if Thomas was shown how to use his sword. He gritted his teeth as the pang of jealously struck him. A pang of guilt quickly followed it, however. Under the circumstances perhaps it was best Thomas learn from someone not himself.

A rusty part of a memory entered his mind. They had been in bed in James's London flat and Thomas had seen his scabbard and sword sitting on the table. He’d asked about it, was interested to know when and how James had learned to use it. He remembered Thomas laughing at something he’d said, propped up on an elbow beside him. It was a trifling moment between the two of them, yet now it made him ache in all the places where salt had filled his wounds after last night.

He turned away from them and sought out his fellow captains. They would need a final meeting to lay down the specific groundwork for dawn tomorrow.

***

 

It was late when Thomas finally returned to the house. He had practiced with Anne for two hours straight, spurred on by her sparse but straightforward encouragement that he was a quick learner. It gave him some small comfort to know that he could learn quickly in skills of combat as he could in skills of politics and rhetoric. He tried to focus on the battle ahead, feeling more confident at protecting himself. He hated that he’d been forced to rely on someone other than himself this entire time, that he needed protecting.

He’d always seen himself as an independent despite his family’s title and all the things that had been handed to him. Nevertheless he had fought his way up the echelons of high society by himself, had made a name for himself by himself. It was one of the things that had driven him apart from his father over the years. He was independent, with independent ideals that did not go along with the flow of what was expected of him. He needed that same independence now if he were to truly survive here, regardless of how much protection James or Anne or anyone else could offer him.

He all but trudged up the steps to the porch as twilight approached. He’d spotted James not thirty minutes ago, still at the camp and talking with Charles Vane alone. They had appeared to be discussing something of import, with both of them gesturing and nodding. He had caught a whiff of Charles’s cheroot in the breeze that blew. Now the scent reminded him of Miranda and this house and James's stern eyes.

He went inside only to come out again carrying the copy of La Galanta and a lantern. He sat down on a chair and cracked open the book, ignoring the first page. He didn’t want to be alone in the house for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It felt odd to be inside without James there.

It was sometime after dark when James's figure came up the dirt path. He walked slowly and looked tired. Thomas had half convinced himself that James would choose to spend the night amongst his crew in the camp on the eve of battle. Thomas felt both relieved and anxious now that he was here. He closed the book.

James came up the steps, walking like an old man. It was hard to see his face with the lantern light so close and Thomas moved it away. James paused at the door and turned to him.

“What are you reading?”

“La Galanta.”

He watched James's eyes fall to the book. He nodded and opened the door. He went inside and left it open behind him.

Thomas sucked in a breath and rose. Was he in need of an invitation to this place? James's non-verbal answer seemed to indicate he wasn’t sure either. Yet the night was growing muggy and sticky and Thomas wished to be rid of the clothes he’d worn all day in the hot sun. He went inside and to the kitchen while James began cleaning up the mess he’d made the night before.

Wordlessly Thomas took two buckets and a bar of soap and went to the well around the back of the house, filling them with enough water for a proper bath. Once he’d bathed he came back inside. James was still cleaning. He didn’t look up at him. Deciding to remain silent, Thomas slipped back into the master bedroom where his clothing chest was and changed into a light gray shirt and breeches. He came back out and stood at the entrance to the hallway. He felt awkward, unsure of what to do. He only knew he didn’t want to go to bed with the two of them in this current state—whatever that was.

James finished cleaning up the last of the broken glass. With nothing else to do he finally looked to Thomas, coming to sit in one of the chairs he had not yet broke. A long moment stretched out in the space between them. Thomas licked his lips.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he began. “That you enjoyed your misery. That was wrong. It was cruel.”

James stared at the stub of the single candle lit on the table.

“It wasn’t entirely wrong.”

He said no more. Thomas sensed his hesitancy. Trying to get James to talk to him at times was like trying to force a mule to move when it didn’t want to. It was one thing that had not changed with him over time.

“Even so,” said Thomas. “I regret it. I don’t ever want to speak to you like that, like my father would have done to me.”

James's eyes jerked up at him. Thomas was about to continue, to tell James he didn’t expect forgiveness, that he understood why he had lashed out, but James spoke first. His voice was gravel, the sound matching the tired way his body sagged in the chair.

“My shame…” he said slowly. Thomas inhaled sharply.

“…Is not the thing that controls me the most, the way you think it does.”

His eyes had wondered back to the candle stub. They appeared grayish-blue in the dim and flickering light to Thomas. Twin stormy seas in constant motion.

“It did for a long time while you were gone,” James continued. “I was haunted by that moment when Hennessy confronted me in front of your father. I used that moment, that hellish moment, to help kindle the flames for the next ten years. But before that moment and now…”

James's eyes flicked up to his. Thomas waited, completely unsure of what James was going to say.

“Now there’s something else. It’s the larger reason I was so tortured by Hennessy’s acknowledgement of the two of us. Why I could not let Mr. Cooper confront you any more than he already had. I can’t stand it when you’re hurt by others, when your name is dragged through the mud any more than it was so long ago. I know you know this already. I can’t stand it when--“

Now James was getting to whatever it was that made him unsure, shy almost. Thomas sensed it and tried to reassure him.

“James…”

James motioned for him to wait. Thomas let out an unsteady breath.

“I can’t stand it when they attack us, call what we have vile or profane. I never, ever thought that before Hennessy confronted me. Never. It was new to me. His words ripped me open, shoved that shame into me, I think. Not because I suddenly agreed with his assessment, not because I entertained that two men loving one another could be anything nearing the horrid things he called it, but because he meant that we were vile, profane. Your father meant that, called you that. I think that is when it started, the day that James Flint was truly born.”

James stood up suddenly and filled the space between them. Thomas resisted the urge to reach out for him. James stood in front of him, stormy eyes unwavering.

“I have more shame for the rest of the world than I do for myself,” he said. “Shame that they cannot fathom us. When I hit you…”

Thomas shook his head.

“I’ve already forgiven you for that…”

“I did it in part because, well, you did deserve it,” said James, forcing a wry grin. “But also because I was mad at Cooper, at those men following him. It was like ice cold water in my face when he called you a whore, and I remembered your father and Hennessy. So I’m sorry. It will never happen again. Ever.”

Thomas knew when James was uncertain of himself, no matter how confident he may have spoke. He had come to recognize the little, trivial features of his expression to know the difference between one of his white lies and the truth. This was, reassuringly, the latter.

“And Captain Hume?” Thomas asked. “Was it the same when he discovered us, that morning at the Guthrie estate? You were angry with him because of the way he saw us, not because you felt ashamed?”

James nodded. “Yes.”

“My lieutenant.” Thomas grinned. “Always surprising me with fresh peeks into his soul. I hope that never changes.”

James echoed his grin. Then it faded as he reached out and brushed against Thomas's swollen and sore jaw with his thumb.

“Honestly it was long overdue,” said Thomas.

When James blinked, somewhat appalled, Thomas continued, “Someone should have knocked some sense into this spoiled, rich nobleman years ago.”

Whatever remaining strain between them seemed to evaporate. James curled his fingers along the back of his neck and pulled him into a light kiss. Thomas pushed his fingers through James's ginger beard, tracing the outline of his jaw as he sighed into the soft touch of James's lips.

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas, pulling back slightly. “But I fear I’m too tired to do anything more.”

“Me too,” said James. “Come, let’s go to bed. Tomorrow promises to be long and hard.” 

***

 

Thomas slept soundly. No dreams or nightmares visited him but when he awoke it was still dark. He had been roused by the feel of soft cotton breeches rubbing up against his backside purposefully, methodically. A moan escaped him, half of sleep and half of pleasure. After another few minutes the cobwebs in his mind were brushed away. James was pressing himself up against his rear and he was hard. Thomas let out a more audible moan and in response James's hand found its way to the dip under his ribs, gently siding under Thomas's night shirt and rubbing his skin.

Catlike, Thomas rubbed himself against James in kind. They continued this dance, a slow and lazy one, for some time. James had pushed more of his shirt up, fingers tickling along his skin, circling a nipple. His finger tips were cool and made Thomas shudder.

He leaned his head back and quickly felt the prickle of James's beard on his neck, followed by soft lips. Thomas twisted to look at him. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to make out James licking his lips and to see the tiny glints in his eyes from the faint moonlight that came in from the window.

James kissed him slowly, lips matching the same pace as the rest of his body as it wriggled over Thomas's.

Thomas sighed against him and let himself get lost in the touch and feel of James. He breathed in his scent—salt and citrus tonight and especially intoxicating, he thought. James sucked at the vulnerable spot of his throat, teeth scraping here and there. His tongue flicked out behind Thomas's earlobe. The sensation shot down to his groin. He pushed himself against James's hard-on through his breeches. His hand came up to caress his beard again—it seemed he could never get enough of James's beard—then wound its way to his open-necked shirt.

They pushed against one another harder, until Thomas's own erection was begging to be freed. James kneeled and tugged down Thomas's breeches all the way. Thomas kicked them off. He heard James moan at the sight of his erection. Thomas bent his knees and spread his legs so that James could slide up between them. Thomas's heart beat faster as James slid a finger into his tight hole. The pain and pleasure it caused was exquisite and caused heat to shoot through him. James shifted and reached for the bedside table, fumbling with it and then retracting it with what looked like a vial to Thomas. Yes, it was. James wetted his fingers with the tiny bottle and tossed it back on the table. He pressed his finger in again. Thomas tensed and pushed up on the bed but this time James's finger slid all the way in easily. A sound of pleasure crossed Thomas's lips.

James shifted again and inserted another finger, opening him up. Thomas pulled at his shirt sleeve and James's face bent over his again. Their kisses were more urgent but not frantic. Still steady and not too deep. It made Thomas feel like he was floating in warm water that tasted and smelled like James. The feeling grew because of the hand James had in-between Thomas's legs which was the center of Thomas's pleasure at that moment.

The heat and pressure built slowly but steadily. When James withdrew his fingers Thomas let out a small whimper. The immediate vacuum was almost painful. He wanted James to fill him up completely, to have his hot and throbbing girth inside him.

He pulled his heels over the bed sheets, trying to open his legs more and bucking up against James. James kissed him with more force, humming deeply in his throat. He unlaced his own breeches and broke away from Thomas's face. Thomas looked down at James's rock-hard cock. His hands made fistfuls of James's shirt at the shoulders.

“Please James,” he begged.

James positioned his cock over Thomas's rim and pushed in. Thomas gasped as stronger wave of heat jolted him, spreading like warm butter throughout his limbs and in the pit of his stomach. The way James took him made him want to weep; sweetly and tenderly, like a ship cruising through the open ocean, its course steady but unrushed.

James rolled his hips tightly over and over and Thomas closed his eyes at the sensation. He raised a palm to grip James's rump, encouraging the movement. God, how this felt, Thomas thought. James's cock buried itself deep inside him and James stilled over him. Thomas opened his eyes to find James staring down at him, his own eyes half-lidded with lust. Thomas was panting and it became clear that James was turned on hearing it and seeing him in such a state.

“You’re a fucking vision,” James whispered.

“Mmm,” he said, grinning and bucking into James so that James would thrust into him again.

In short time the steady cruise they were at had Thomas panting uncontrollably as the pressure built agonizingly slow for him. Yet it hardly bothered him since James was nearing the edge very quickly. Thomas forced his eyes opened to take in his pirate captain, who was moaning and grunting now, brows knitted together in pleasure. Thomas groaned, pushing his hands against James's rear and wrapping his legs around his back.

At the very last James lost his composure and straight-out fucked him, coming after a few good thrusts. It made Thomas's cock quiver intensely but didn’t push him into a climax. Nevertheless he held James tightly as James emptied himself and for a few moments afterward. Those were always some of the most precious moments to him, getting to cradle his lover after James had taken his pleasure and surrendered himself to Thomas's arms.

When James withdrew Thomas grabbed his own cock, fully intending to finish the job himself, but James stopped him. He took Thomas's hands and pulled him up into a sitting position, then roughly jerked him to the edge of the bed. He got off the bed and went to his knees before Thomas.

Thomas's breath hitched with sudden trepidation. He stopped James's advancement with a hand over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

The trauma of James's time spent as a prisoner on the HMS Pearl had not slipped Thomas's mind and what he had been forced to do for one of the officers there. Thomas needed him to know that he was in no way obliged to do this for him, not if he wasn’t completely comfortable. But James looked up at him with anything but uncertainty.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I want to.”

Thomas held his gaze a moment longer, trying to find a lie. There wasn’t one. James gently pushed his hand away and scooted up close to him, palms spreading Thomas's legs further apart and exposing his rock-hard organ to James. His breath hitched again, this time with anticipation.

James slid his arms across Thomas's thighs sensually as his mouth closed around his crown. Thomas gasped involuntarily as he always did when James did this to him. The sudden warmth, the soft and wet feel of those lips and mouth and tongue over his cock made him moan loudly. God, was James good at this, he had to admit. Thomas took credit for teaching James several things in the sexual arena, but this skill he’d never been lacking in.

Thomas's fists curled around the sheets as James took him deeper, hands massaging his thighs and rump. James pulled back and ran his tongue all over Thomas's crown, causing a hot ache to roll through him. He was already nearing the ends of his tolerance. It wouldn’t take much for him to spill over.

It looked like James couldn’t get enough of him either, which didn’t help matters. He removed his mouth from Thomas's cock to pull it taunt against his belly, licking and sucking at his sac and causing half-comprehensible curses to come out of Thomas's mouth. Then James took him down again, raising a hand to jerk him at the same time. An enormous wave of heat shot through Thomas, turning white-hot. He grimaced and fucked into James's mouth as the wave crested inside his cock and came spilling out into James's mouth. And Jesus, it seemed to last forever. He let out a high keen, thrusting uncontrollably. He heard and felt James's throat vibrate as he moaned, his hands squeezing Thomas's thighs in response to the hot and sticky substance Thomas gave him.

When he was finished James pulled away. Thomas grappled desperately for him and James was there, wet and messed lips hot against his in a post-sexual flurry. He tasted himself on James's mouth and moaned anew. At last he broke away and scooted back up on the bed, allowing James a moment to rise and get them a cloth to clean themselves and make a half-hearted attempt to clean the sheets where James had leaked out of Thomas earlier.

Light tremors tingled through Thomas's body as he laid down again, still caught in the aftermath of his orgasm. When James moved close beside him he let out a little cry.

“I’ve totally spent you,” James said, voice low and intimate and full of warm regret. Thomas snuggled close to him.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to re-read this, but it's all very action-packed as I recall. Thanks to everyone still reading this monstrosity of a story. Comments still craved as always. <3

Nassau fort

Day of battle

 

Edward Teach took another chunk out of the chicken leg he’d been given as the gray light of dawn crept up over the walls of the fort. To say that he was being treated cruelly was an overstatement, and to say he was being treated civilly by his red-coated, heel-clicking captors was also an overstatement.

They didn’t bother to hide their contempt of him, tending to him the way one keeps a mangy dog. Teach let them toss about their hard looks and condescending speech with practiced patience. He let them believe—by the end of a week’s time—that he was docile; a pirate who shriveled under the great authority of England.

So it was that when he heard the first thunderous boom of cannon fire in the distance Teach was eating the chicken and ignoring the annoying prattle from two older officers about the inevitable downfall of piracy.

As soon as the cannons boomed, Teach tried to place their relative location, but no sooner had that thought entered his mind than one of them had slammed into the outer wall of the fort, sending up a spray of tiny chunks of stone and chalk-like mortar dust. So, they were close. Seconds later there was another impact and the two officers watching him began scrambling along with the dozens of other soldiers stationed in the fort.

Teach finished his chicken and smiled.

“Ah, ah, stay down, dog!”

His attempt to rise was cut off by a jab from the rifle barrel of a twenty-something officer. A quick glance told Teach he had neither the strong build nor the wit of the two older officers who had been guarding him all day. In addition, he was clearly unsure of what to do in the ensuring chaos and was looking all around with a panicked expression. His fellow officers were screaming out orders left and right and more cannon balls assaulted the fort, their impacts creating a deafening boom and now managing to hit the fort’s own armaments which were placed in each of its bastions.

Teach reached up with both of his chained wrists and ripped the rifle from the surprised officer’s grasp. In one fluid motion he rammed the butt into the man’s face, bloodying him, and giving himself the opportunity to at last get to his feet. The officer got him unawares, however, by moving exceedingly quick. He’d taken out his saber and had nearly slashed Teach’s throat before Teach had thrown up the link of his chained wrists as a shield. The sword clashed against the iron links. Teach stumbled up against the wall of the fort but recovered by kneeing the officer in the crotch, which the young man had unwittingly left exposed.

As soon as the man doubled over in pain Teach dropped the rifle and yanked the sword from him and cut him down—one, two, three deep slashes over his chest and throat.

Next his line of sight fell across the fort where five of his crew were being held in a makeshift wooden cage, awaiting the chance to be tried and hanged. He needed to free them. Yet even as he took his first long strides towards them—doing the best he could considering the chains on his ankles—more soldiers had spotted him and were running towards him.

He turned and swiped up the dead officer’s rifle, took aim, cocked the hammer, and fired. One of the oncoming men dropped instantly, sending the others scattering but still advancing towards him. They aimed rifles. He instinctively ducked and rolled, avoiding their aim.

With some luck he made it to the wooden cage mostly unscathed, save for a brief sword fight that left his chest nicked. His men clamored for their release, eyes wild with excitement as he hacked away at the thick and tight leather and hemp straps that held the cage’s door in place.

“Who’s that firing?” one of them asked as they were freed.

“Our long lost brothers, I hope,” said Teach. “Come, quickly. Where are the others?”

“Taken down to the dungeons below.”

“Then let’s get them the hell out of there. Go!”

Now six strong, Edward Teach and his men turned to fight off the British, who could now only afford to send so many soldiers to attempt and subdue them; the rest were scrambling madly up to the fort’s bastions in an attempt to mount a defense, while still others were let outside the walls to assess what was happening elsewhere. The chaos gave Teach the perfect’s pirate’s opportunity to press his advantage, and they made it to the door that would take them underground after losing only a single man.

Once there, he had some time trying to subdue a particularly well-built and well-fought soldier who guarded another group of Teach’s crew, but once he was slew and his keys taken Teach freed ten more of his men. His smile spread coolly over his face.

“Now let’s take back what is ours,” he bellowed, raising his sword and sending his newly invigorated men into a frenzy of shouts and whoops. They charged back up to ground level not to fight their way out of the fort but to kill every last British soldier within it.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Nassau, interior

 

Thomas had been right. He never would have survived this fight if his significant other had been anywhere but by his side.

James constantly kept an eye on him even though so far Thomas had done nothing but impress him with his sure-footedness and keen focus. Though he didn’t know the island as James and the other men did, he seemed to have developed some instinct for being able to follow James and Anne when they turned unexpectedly or suddenly broke running formation to fight off another patrol. He reminded James of the blackbird who flew with its fellows in massive flocks and always turned with the rest, no matter how random their pattern appeared to the human eye.

Now, as they drew closer towards Nassau they were running into more and more patrols. With nearly thirty men strong the smaller dozen or so groups of soldiers were relatively easy to overtake and kill. Here James worried about Thomas and whether or not he would be able to take on the British without question, yet again Thomas surpassed his expectations, raising his cutlass and hacking through the red coats fluidly as though he’d been doing it all along.

That also worried James, as he briefly recalled how such killing had changed him, numbed him, after he’d first become captain.

There was no time to ponder on it any further. James's attention was on the immediate fight around him and on making certain Thomas did not stray too far. Anne was like Thomas’s shadow, and at one point James even saw the two of them back to back, fighting as a pair. He cracked a grin at that, able to actually make light of their situation mostly due to Thomas's combat prowess. He would have to show Thomas his appreciation more thoroughly at a later date if they both survived.

Things turned much grimmer, however, once they reached Nassau’s northern entrance. As the sunlight peeked over the treeline James knew they were now less than a quarter of a mile from the port itself. He saw the soldiers had had time to mount a defense. Now there were easily more than thirty of them ready for battle up ahead. If the ships didn’t begin their assault soon they wouldn’t make it. He made a quick decision, holding up a hand high in the air to signal all those behind him to stop some two hundred yards before the army of British.

James could just make out Nassau’s fort behind them in the distance and could now hear the cannon fire. He turned to Anne and Thomas and waited until Billy Bones and Mr. DeGroot joined them from the rear.

“Too many for a straight attack,” said DeGroot at once.

“Agreed,” said James.

“How long do we wait?” asked Billy.

James chewed his bottom lip as he thought quickly.

“If we stay here too long they’ll realize we’re planning something,” he said.

He turned and looked up at the sky and attempted to dead reckon the time of morning.

“I’d say around 7:30, maybe 7:40,” said Anne, watching him keenly.

James turned to Thomas, who nodded in agreement.

“No more than fifteen minutes,” he said at last. “If they haven’t started the attack by then we’ll know something’s wrong and we might as well charge.”

“That’s bloody suicide,” said Billy. He was giving James that look that told James he’d just said something utterly crazy. James had grown used to it by now.

“If you have another suggestion…”

Billy shook his head and sighed, exchanging looks with DeGroot.

“No. Bloody hell,” he muttered.

James nodded. “Good. Quietly tell the men. Give them a chance for a drink or a piss.”

Billy snorted. “I tell them we’re charging those soldiers they’ll be pissing in their pants.”

Billy did as he was told. James lifted the small canteen of water strapped around his chest to his lips and took a drink, offering it to Thomas.

“You really intend to charge those men if the other captains don’t attack?”

James stared out at the mass of redcoats mounted against them.

“They’ll attack. Why wouldn’t they?”

“That’s doesn’t answer the question.”

James hesitated in giving Thomas his answer. Normally he would have had no qualms about charging those soldiers. He’d done things as equally reckless and mad in the past, had in fact carved out his pirating career out of such decisions, for better or worse. Usually for the worse; he’d been shot, nearly stabbed, nearly drowned, had murdered a friend, and had almost faced the noose, and that was just in the last two years. Yet there was one monumental difference between those times and now. He was standing beside James, looking at him with wide sapphire eyes, fair complexion smatted with blood that was not his.

“I won’t if you tell me not to.”

Thomas's eyes jerked up to his, mirth on his features, but James looked at him stoically, wanting him to know in no uncertain terms that he was very much serious. Thomas's gaze turned warm.

“I could kiss you,” he said.

Just then the sound of cannon fire changed. It increased and grew louder, closer. All heads jerked towards Nassau’s port. The army before them didn’t quite panic, but even at this distance James could see a new fear grip them. A dark smile coated his face. It was not James McGraw’s. His men behind him began clamoring and cheering. James turned to them and held up a palm.

“Steady now,” he bellowed. “Let’s give our brothers a moment to collect themselves, shall we?”

 

Before fifteen minutes had passed James watched with growing satisfaction as small, running figures of more pirates coming from the shore grew ever larger, their shouts finally reaching the ears of the soldiers who were all watching James. They turned and James sneered happily as they scattered to defend themselves from behind.

He ordered the charge as their formation broke. As one he and his men rushed to close the gap between the two factions. Thomas was by his side as they reached the enemy. Everything quickly became clashing steel and shouts and blood. James once again was gripped in the power of the moment, acutely aware of the blood pumping through his veins as he had been during the sack of Williamsburg. Everything was sharp and intense and bright. He hacked and slashed his way through the soldiers, creating an imaginary path that would take him from Point A to Point B, with the redcoats as obstacles to be rid of in his path. Fresh blood sprayed his face, his coat. As he cleared his path some of the soldiers turned and ran. He imagined he could almost see his reflection in the eyes of those who looked petrified when he turned to them.

James Flint was still very much alive. He was alive and James knew in his bones that he had no intention of ever ridding himself completely of the persona, simply because the persona was not a persona anymore; it was a part of who he was on some core level of his being.

As he ran his sword through another stomach and ducked to avoid someone else’s blade, the sharp clarity he was experiencing seemed to crest and he realized an even deeper truth: This was one item that Thomas could not change with a proposal or plan, no matter how many times he quoted Aristotle or spoke of virtue or made passionate love to him. This was innate. This was primal. This part of him, during certain times such as now, was something that Thomas would simply have to accept.

As more of their brothers joined the fight Flint fought to advance them further towards the port and the fort. They made it several hundred more yards before they encountered a worse obstacle—the British had created a long line of cannons surrounding the town and were now readying them to fire. James cursed. It must have taken them days to drag the heavy iron barrels and carriages onshore, a tedious process he’d not seen done by a civilized country before.

The High Admiral, whose power loomed over all the rest, meant business—Whoever and wherever he was.

He ordered the men to scatter. They began taking up the guns of their fallen enemies and using them to shoot down the men attempting to set a fuse to the cannons. Even so, several cannons fired before their handlers could be subdued, and James winced and gritted his teeth as the cannons ripped through masses of men around him. He didn’t see Thomas.

He swung around in a circle, eyes darting around madly. Thomas would not have strayed far, not unless he’d been forced to, pushed away in a fight when James had been otherwise engaged…

“Shit. Thomas!”

Another shot landed, this time going in the dirt but proving to be just as deadly as the ones that sailed through the air. Mass amounts of black soil surged up, taking several men’s legs along with it and knocking James off his feet. Dirt covered him, stinging his face and covering him with bits of God knows what else. He scrambled to his feet, panic setting in.

“Thomas!”

The thing in his chest tightened around him. He felt light-headed, though not from a panic attack. His blood was up; he was angered, angered beyond words without an immediate reason why. There were few soldiers left in the foray now and the fighting was turning long-range, with more British soldiers and even a few navy men now crowding behind the line of cannons, replacing those who fell. James ignored them all. He made his way away from the line of fire and away from the beach, where small groups of pirates and soldiers now grappled with each other in a desperate attempt to stay alive and to slew the other man.

“Thomas! God damnit!”

Again he looked all around. He spotted Mr. Scott, looking wild and savage as he cut down an officer. Close to him were his gunner’s mates and a few riggers; Billy was at the extreme end of the range of cannons and seemed to be continuing the advance. With a small breath of relief at that James continued to look for Thomas, now forcing his eyes to the ground to search the unlucky ones.

Yellow hair was not a common trait among Englishmen, especially in His Majesty’s Services; most of the time yellow hair was frowned upon or seen as some inherent weakness. So James was able to quickly scan the bodies of the men he came across. His throat was dry and felt closed off, his heart was raging in his chest. He wanted to slaughter them all, the way he’d slaughtered Earl Alfred Hamilton. If Thomas had been cut down this day, he’d try it, too; kill them mercilessly as the only way to make the fiery thing in his chest grow calm again.

He realized he was on the verge of tears.

“Thomas.”

His voice was weak. The bodies on the ground all began to look the same. They were all bloodied and they were all dead or dying.

“Flint!”

The cry was not from Thomas but he jumped and turned. It was Anne, coming towards him from the larger melee. James blinked, tried to focus as she approached, her petite body moving like a man’s as she wielded two swords covered in blood. Her green eyes looked wide at his, dancing brightly. Battle suited her, he saw.

“Thomas,” she said, reaching him. They both instinctively crouched down as more gunfire went off close by them.

“What?” he asked impatiently. “Where is he?”

“He’s been shot,” she said, raising her voice over the roar of shouting coming from the beach. She was gripping his arm. Hard.

“I saw him get shot in the head. I couldn’t make it to him. I don’t know if he’s alive nor not…”

“What?”

James blinked at her and stumbled back a step.

“What?” he repeated dumbly.

Anne watched him, growing silent. Her lips formed a tight line, brows furrowed as she looked at him. James swallowed.

“Where? Show me where.”

“Come on. Billy’s leading them through the cannons. It was over here…”

They rushed back towards the beach, where only the straggling soldiers were putting up any physical resistance against the onslaught of pirates. That left only the corpses on the ground to stumble over as the fighting moved closer to Nassau’s fort, where James was vaguely aware of ceaseless cannon fire still ripping into the stony structure. He followed Anne until she stopped and looked around.

“Here. Right about here. He’s gone.”

James joined her in scanning the bodies but none of them had yellow hair. It was no relief to him. The ground was so saturated with blood in certain spots it was nearly black. The smell of it reached his nostrils, thick and rusty and full of salt.

“Thomas!” he roared, this time cupping a hand over his mouth and not giving a damn whose attention he drew. He felt Anne tugging on his sleeve.

“Come on. No use stayin’ here. Bet someone’s helped him along, huh?”

James swallowed again. He was incapable of responding so he simply nodded and let Anne lead them towards the fighting again. As they crossed a long stretch of sandy soil void of combat he struggled to regain some vestige of command. He thought about the fight, about strategy, about what to do when they reached the fort…and it all shattered and fell apart in a thousand agonizing pieces, only to be replaced by an image of Thomas's dead face, stabbing at him and causing more agony than any actual sword ever had.

Still he plodded on after Anne. Whenever a hand or a voice rose up from the ground, begging him and he saw it was not Thomas, he drew his dagger and ended their suffering, heedless of whether or not it was a solider or a pirate.

Unbidden memories slithered up and coiled themselves inside his mind’s eye:

Soft glow of the Portsmouth sun shining through the bay windows and setting alight the blue eyes so close to his own.

‘Today is our last day together before you leave for Nassau’, he said. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

James laughed softly through his nose, hands still gripping his thighs. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you do. We both want this.’

\---------------

‘Do you remember,” he said in a raw whisper, ‘the first time you kissed me?’

Thomas cleared his throat and answered weakly but clearly, ‘Of course.’

\---------------

Another deafening clap of cannon fire brought him back, along with renewed shouts and screams as they approached a large cluster of pirates and soldiers battling over access to the fort. He and Anne looked up at the giant structure that sat on the sloping hill before them and marveled at its ruination. Silver and Rackham and Vane must have been firing for close to a full hour now and the results were showing; nearly all the south and western-facing bastions were destroyed, along with the large section of west wall that he himself had damaged scarcely half a year ago…

He tuned it out, walking away from Anne as she engaged a fresh batch of worn-out soldiers. More shards of the past scraped at his skin:

Miranda, dressed splendidly in her shining, forest green dress, smelling like lavender and sandalwood and looking imploringly at him:

‘But you, you see the world as it is. You see its truths and how to navigate them. How to bend them to your will. It's why I love you. Men like Thomas need men like you. To protect them from the world. And that is what I am asking you to do.’

He’d stumbled onto the beach. He put a palm over a jagged coral rock to support himself, closing his eyes.

Forgive me. I have failed to protect him.

James…

He opened his eyes and stared out at the sea. Its calming sounds that soothed his soul weren’t to be heard. Instead the rolling and crashing waves went in tune with the crashing of gun fire and screams. When he tried to inhale the salt air it was tainted with smoke and blood.

James!

He blinked. He turned slowly. He wasn’t remembering that voice at the moment. No…

He turned fully back towards the hellish chaos behind him.

“James! Here!”

His eyes went wide, heart seizing up in his chest. There was Thomas, trying to run towards him out of the inferno of people. He was still beautifully, indescribably, alive and intact, though blood coated one side of his face.

James made an abortive motion to go towards him but found his legs rather rubbery. He leaned against the painful rock, watching helplessly as Thomas came towards him. Out of breath, Thomas stopped a few paces in front of him.

“Anne found me. She told me…you thought I was…”

A high-pitched tiny cry forced itself over James's lips. He grabbed Thomas and pulled him close, crushing the smaller body into his, arms wrapping themselves around his back and fisting his shirt.

Some unaccountable number of minutes passed before James realized he’d buried his face in Thomas's shoulder and was sobbing into it. He felt Thomas grip the back of his head tightly, heard a whimper come from him.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Thomas. “I’m all right. I promise. It’s just a flesh wound.”

Thomas's worried tone told him he was making a fool of himself, and in the middle of a battle, no doubt. He did his best to cease his sobs. Thomas was alive. He was alive and not dying. He repeated the phrases over and over until they became a sort of mantra and he looked up. Thomas watched him with soft eyes full of love. James reached up and touched the source of the bleeding on his head. Thomas winced a little. It was indeed just a flesh wound.

“Come on,” said Thomas, taking his hand. “I think we’re needed.”

His words snapped James back into reality, where not every single thing revolved around Thomas—well, it did, actually, but James had to think about his men, about the mission now that Thomas was all right. So he steeled himself and put away the tattered remains of James McGraw once more.

 

Thomas watched as James's eyes hardened into the now familiar scowl. He stood straighter and nodded back towards the fort, where the gunfire and shouting were sporadic now.

“Come on,” he said.

With relief Thomas hurried alongside him, glad for once to see Captain Flint in command of himself once again.

As they reached the fort he saw that it was full of both Flint’s men and Vane’s men. He guessed there must have been thirty or forty—whoever had survived—surrounding the front and western side of the fort. The British had been defeated. And there, pushing his way through the mass of pirates came Captain Vane, bloodied and with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other but still standing strong. He and James came together before the massive pine doors to the fort, which remained tightly shut.

James nodded over Vane’s shoulder.

“The rest of the beach?”

“Taken care of. Silver and Rackham are standing by. Any Brits left alive are going to be in there.”

Vane gave a nod at the fort.

“Let’s find something to fashion a ram out of,” said James.

“Maybe grappling hooks, like in Charlestown,” said Vane, looking up at the structure’s high walls.

Thomas was just beginning to decide for himself which option seemed easier when everyone startled as the fort’s doors creaked and began to swing open. He pulled his daggers out, taking a step back with James and Vane. He felt the air around him pulse with nervous energy. He glanced to his left and saw Anne nearby, eyes narrowed.

Here we go again, he thought.

But there was to be no more conflict. No sound came from within; no shouts or orders or the slightest whisper of soldiers lying in wait. When the doors opened wide enough a lone figure stepped through, brandishing two pistols and with three more tucked into the thick baldric that draped across his massive chest. Thomas grinned as Edward Teach stepped outside the fort, his long black hair untied and wild. Behind him were his men and dead soldiers on the ground. Thomas watched as both James and Vane failed to completely hide their surprise.

“Jesus,” said Vane.

Teach looked at each of them. Thomas imagined he there was a smile hiding underneath all that facial hair.

“About fucking time,” said Teach.

\----------------------------------


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. No spoilers :p Drop me some comments :))

One week later

 

_Captain G. Hume,_

_You will no doubt remember me from Harbour Island sir. I called myself Thomas Emmett then, the lover of Captain Flint. My real name, however, is Thomas Hamilton. Whether you recognize my name or not is of little consequence to me now._

_No doubt you are still nursing your wounds in one way or another from recent events. So are Captain Flint and the other pirates. I’m not writing to be spiteful or to express my feeling towards you or even this entire conflagration. Rather I am writing simply to inform you on how things stand._

_To expand, the pirate raiders have retaken all of New Providence, as you’ve no doubt guessed. I can assume by your failure to reappear with your mighty Scarborough you realize you no longer have the higher ground. Expect it to stay that way for the near future._

_Not only have the pirates retaken the island, they have also gained a very important ally who has long since been gone from these waters—Edward Teach, known by most of England and the American colonies as the dreaded Blackbeard. He, along with Captains Flint, Vane, and others, have formed a kind of republic here. Crude compared to republics of the civilize world, but a republic nonetheless. I can tell you there is growing order here once again, and organization. All that you and the High Admiral—whoever he may be—and King George have sought to destroy here is being rebuilt and improved upon._

_So the point of my letter, sir, is this: I know England will not stop Her pursuit of this island nor the rest of the Caribbean, no matter the cost or the length of time it takes to reclaim her. You should take into account that neither will Nassau stop Her pursuit of holding you off and destroying any and every attempt at said retaking._

_This republic of pirates is not the royal navy, but our strength lies elsewhere; it lies in what you and your kind can never understand, in the unpredictable, in the morals of men and women who have been forced to struggle to survive, who have known great misfortune and hardships at the hands of so-called “civilized” society._

_I, sir, now count myself as one of those people._

_Let this letter serve as a quiet warning to you and to others. I have been through Hell, captain. It is cold and dank and filled with the screams of those who have been forsaken and ripped away from those that loved them. And I have paid the price that comes with escaping it. If you do return here, you will undoubtedly find a Hell of your own making._

_\--T. Hamilton_

Thomas put down the quill pen and re-read the letter. It was the most disturbing thing he’d written—the coldness which he’d given his words unsettled him, but it was necessary. He needed Captain Hume to take it seriously and such rhetoric was the only way. He quickly sealed it and tucked it away. He had not told James his intentions. It would probably be some time before the letter found its way onto a legitimate packet ship, if at all, and he would tell James after it was on its way, if that ever happened.

For now, Thomas tucked the letter away in his chest, which still sat in the corner of the master bedroom of James's house—their house—on the island.

Once that was done he came outside and stood at the railing on the porch. A constant but soft breeze was blowing in from the southwest. James had called them the trade winds, the most common direction of the wind in this part of the New World. Thomas inhaled deeply the scent of salt and jasmine and some other sweet flower that was now blooming all over the island as summer was fully underway. A fast approaching rumble of hooves caught his attention on the road, where James was galloping towards him.

James had spent most of the week since retaking the island with the other captains in council meeting after council meeting as they came up with various plans to rebuild and strengthen the island. With Nassau’s fort badly damaged it rendered the bay vulnerable. Now plans were underway to gather and then bring ashore many rounds of shot for the cannons the British had so conveniently left behind as a way of doubling their defenses while the fort was once again repaired.

The week had been more difficult than that, however, and Thomas shuddered as he remembered the multiple sea funerals they’d given for their dead brethren, hauling them by the dozens in long boats and skiffs out to the ships, where the fallen were given proper mariner’s ceremonies. Those that could be identified had their names read out loud amongst their friends, while those who could not be known were slid peacefully into the ocean with words of bravery and courage.

He had insisted to go aboard the Marcus Aurelius for the ceremonies of James's fallen crew despite James telling him it wasn’t necessary. He had been a part of this and he had wanted to pay tribute, the same as the rest of them. James had given him that lop-sided smile of his, small but genuine, that told Thomas he appreciated the gesture.

Even so, the sheer number of deaths had left James, Charles, and virtually everyone with heavy heads and hearts that week.

The British bodies had been burned along the beaches with no ceremony, save for men throwing ale and rum into the flames, along with their curses and contempt.

Now that all the dead were gone and the blood had been either covered up or washed away Thomas felt he could breathe a true sigh of relief for the first time all week.

He met James at the stairs. Tonight there was going to be a decided change in mood for the people of Nassau; there was to be a celebration on the beach.

“Sorry I’m late,” said James. “Have you eaten?”

“Mmm. Goose meat and goose eggs. And fresh bread, the first I’ve had in I don’t know how long. Thank God the cooks didn’t abandon us,” he said with a grin. “And you? There’s plenty of leftovers…”

James shook his head. “I ate at the tavern. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

James nodded for him to mount the mare but Thomas suddenly paused.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What? Oh.”

James hurried inside the house and returned a few moments later carrying a very wide leather book. He wrapped it inside a cloth and tucked it inside the mare’s satchel before they took their leave.

***

They arrived on the beach shortly after sunset. Already large bonfires were scattered along the sands, each of them like a beacon that drew in its own group of revelers. All the major crews were here, as well as some of the hardier, livelier residents, celebrating the eradication of England. Thomas also noted that the prostitutes had come down from the tavern. They clutched at men’s arms and joined them around the fires. No doubt they were getting paid a few extra coins for their atypical appearance on the beach.

Despite the merriment going around, Thomas knew there were still a fair number of people who had welcomed the British; James had told him as much. People who didn’t see England as the enemy. Even now as Thomas tried to find empathy for those nameless and faceless people he had a hard time of it. His own beliefs and values had undergone such a transformation since being with James again he wondered if he could ever empathize with his fellow Englishman again.

Now, as James guided them down to one of the fires Thomas felt more than just the merriment of the beach. A kind of serenity came over him as he again caught the whiff of jasmine in the air. It smelled like home. It even felt like home, he realized, as a warm hand slid its way in his.

Thomas started at the thought. It had been so very long since he’d felt this way. He’d stayed in so many places since leaving his home in London—a madhouse, a Virginia plantation, the elegant captain’s quarters of a Spanish warship and then the dank hold of an English one, an island inhabited by only natives, and finally the house here on New Providence. He’d nearly given up hope of ever finding a true home again, but as James almost shyly slid his hand into his own Thomas knew what he had always known, that no matter how comfortable or uncomfortable any physical place could be, it was the stormy jade eyes and ginger beard and freckled arms of James that he called home. All of James beckoned to him like a thousand beacons of bonfire, lighting up his soul whenever he drew near and saving him from despair.

As they drew near the fire Thomas smiled at the familiar faces gathering there—Jack and Anne, thick as thieves, and John Silver and Billy Bones and even Charles Vane. James withdrew his hand. He was carrying the clothed book under his other arm. He looked towards Silver and back to Thomas.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

“Take your time,” Thomas assured him. He watched as James approached Silver and together they walked a short ways closer to the surf. He continued his way to the roaring fire. Two sets of driftwood and a few crates had been set up around it. Vane sat on a crate, cheroot in one hand and a decanter in the other.

“Fancy seeing you joining us,” he said in lieu of a proper greeting. Still his tone was light and Thomas detected the faintest wisp of a smile at his lips. Thomas sat himself down on the driftwood across from him and next to Anne, who smiled happily at him.

“Well what can I say?”replied Thomas. “What is one to do when surrounded by such bad influences all the time, except to join them?”

That earned him grins and snorts of laughter all around. Vane grunted, which Thomas supposed was as good as a laugh.

“Here you go,” said Billy, surprising him by offering him a mug of ale.

Thomas nodded and lifted the mug.

“Thank you.”

***

 

“All right, all right, enough about how I’ve completely emptied the shot locker and the powder room and didn’t regulate the shares of water,” said Silver, somewhere between exasperation and jesting. “It was my first time as captain. I mean, with a crew and a ship to myself.”

“I know,” said James.

They stood close to the foamy surf as it rolled up towards them then slinked back. The ocean was calm tonight. James inhaled its scent, glad to find it pure once again and without the smoke and blood that had been choking it before.

“You going to tell me what’s that tucked under your arm or am I supposed to guess?” Silver asked.

“Oh? Did I say it was for you?” James replied. He fixed Silver with the most arrogant look he could muster and it made the younger man flinch away briefly before he called his bluff.

“Still full of piss and vinegar,” said Silver.

James lifted the book and unwrapped it. He offered it to him. Silver’s eyes looked from the book and back to James, filled with curiosity but also caution. Always those two elements now, James noted.

Silver licked his lips, not taking the book.

“Look, whatever this is, I’m not certain I want whatever is involved within its pages. We’ve just had a small victory here, and I’m not ready to embark on another one of your insane voyages just yet…”

“Will you take the damn thing?” growled James impatiently.

With a huff Silver did so. He balanced it with one palm and opened its cover with the other, brows furrowing together when he saw that all of the pages were blank, save for the first one, which simply read Captain’s Log.

His blue eyes snapped up to James's.

“What’s this?”

“It’s yours. Getting a crew won’t be a problem for you, not after all this. I’d say you’ll need at least forty for starters if you’re to have a sloop.”

He paused and waited, doing his best to deny the sudden surge of rusty but true joy he felt as realization dawned over Silver’s face.

“You’re serious? You’re naming me captain?”

“I’m not naming you anything,” James said, keeping his voice even. The gesture he was showing was generous enough. Best if he not let Silver glimpse anything more of his soft underbelly.

“If you still desire it,” he continued, “I am giving you leave of your job as my quartermaster to pursue it.”

Silver’s eyes went wide. He touched the page of the log gingerly as though it might crumble under his fingers. Then he shut it and tucked it under his arm. Their eyes met, and in them James recalled the moment they’d shared on Santa Ybel when he had conceded control of the Queen Anne to Silver. Those blue eyes shone with gratitude, respect and something else James couldn’t quite place, but all were things so bizarrely foreign coming from John it made him squirm a bit.

“Well what?” he asked impatiently. “You’re no longer the same shit who crawled his way onto the Walrus. You want a hug and a kiss too?”

The words had the desired effect. Silver looked away sheepishly and grinned.

“Coming from you now, that sounds less like a taunt…”

“Careful,” warned James.

The smug grin remained, though it was more hidden under John’s long beard. He stuck out his hand, offering it to James. James took it and they shook. James began walking away.

“And what of my ship?” Silver asked him, following behind.

James scoffed. “What ship? You get your crew together, then you steal one, like the rest of us.”

“Ah. Yes, but in order to steal a ship, one generally needs to be in a ship already at sea.”

Without turning around James smiled to himself. He flicked a wrist over his shoulder at Silver.

“Quit pestering me. I wish to enjoy myself by the fire.”

The voice became high and indignant. “Excuse me, but this is a major problem for me. If you could maybe just let me, say, borrow the Walrus so I can get to another ship...James? James!”

Still grinning, James ignored his pleas and continued on to the warm glow and warm bodies surrounding the fire. He sat down beside Thomas, who was already laughing and partaking in whatever bawdy joke had just been told. He looked not only at ease but even within his element.

James suspected as he sat down that it had been Thomas who had told the joke, no doubt lacing it with his proper English to give its punch line an even more humorous blow.

He found himself laughing more that night than he had in the last decade. The liquor flowed freely, though he made sure to keep shooting Thomas warning glares for him to watch his drinking. In truth, however, their own merriment was providing them with far more entertainment than drinking alone usually did.

At one point James realized he was flush against Thomas's side; their hips and legs and even feet were together. Every now and then Thomas's palm slid over his thigh and James's didn’t even flinch. Beside them he saw Jack and Anne had twined their fingers together. Even Billy and—when he had rejoined them—Silver paid no attention to his and Thomas's affection. It amazed James. As he mentally pulled away from them all to look around at their glowing faces he felt like these truly were his brothers, for the first time. He’d spent so much time keeping them all at a distance—though for good reasons—that he had failed to understand Billy’s words time and again, that loyalty and brotherhood meant something here. Now, as James felt his lover against him and listened to the laughter of his fellow pirates he turned his gaze upward. He thought happily of Miranda, of the three of them together. As always, the well-kept bookshelf in his mind allowed him to pull out a memory and dust of its cobwebs:

Miranda, in one of her beautiful yellow dresses, comes into the study, cheeks rosy and smile on her face as her eyes danced between the two of them.

“I came to make sure you two were still alive. No one's heard from you in hours!”

He had tried to hide his smile at her words. Thomas's answer made him want to smile even more, with its perfect blend of gentle sarcasm. His sapphire eyes never left James's.  
“The lieutenant,” said Thomas, with those eyes, “Was just recounting to me his belief that the only thing that stands between us and a prosperous Nassau is an ocean, 100 years of history, and human nature.”

“Has he been like this all day?” asked Miranda with pretend concern.

He had enjoyed how the two of them always played off one another, how in synch they were and how the warmth that created seemed to seep into his very bones. He had finally allowed himself a grin in her direction.

“More or less, ma'am, yes,” he’d replied…

 

James sighed happily at the memory before letting it fade back into the bookshelf. He felt Thomas's hand brush across the small of his back.

Whatever came next, they would not be alone in it, not anymore.

__________________

Epilogue

London, England

Lord Thaddeus Kinnmore waited impatiently inside the waiting room. It was crammed with too much furniture and too hot. He was about to order his servant to begin fanning him when the doors finally opened and the admiral stepped through them. Kinnmore rose.

“Ah, admiral,” he said with forced pleasantry.

The admiral, an elderly man, extended a shaky hand and the two exchanged bows.

“I trust your journey was relatively smooth,” he said.

Kinnmore rolled his eyes and was about to launch into a tirade how his trip all the way from Williamsburg was anything but smooth, but the admiral raised a hand to cut him off.

“Apologies, but I really am quite pressed for time, my lord. The drawing, if you please.”

Lord Kinnmore gave him a half smile, half sneer and snapped his fingers at the servant. The servant quickly handed over a large envelope. Kinnmore opened it and pulled out its only contents: A large, single sheet of drawing paper. He handed it to the admiral.

“This was what she drew. Emily is her name. I believe she fancied him while he was under my employ. Foolish girl. That is why she drew it.”

The admiral said nothing but looked at the drawing up and down. It filled up the entire page and was done with some good amount of detail and in color. There could be no mistaking it.

“Is that your man?” Kinnmore asked, not without a little impatience.

“It certainly is,” said the admiral. “I thank you profusely for your cooperation in this matter, my lord. I only wish our mutual friend, Captain Hume, had found his way into the Virginia tidewaters sooner.”

“Yes, well, as long as you do something about him and that blasted island down there. The man cost me half a season’s worth of tobacco crops,” Kinnmore droned out.

“Rest assured, my lord, His Majesty and I are stepping up our efforts even as we speak. I even have a personal interest in seeing a certain pirate raider brought to justice.”

“Indeed,” said Kinnmore. He extended his hand to take his leave, ready to get out of the suffocating waiting room. “Good day and good luck to you, admiral…? I’m sorry, your name has slipped my feeble mind, sir.”

The admiral smiled coldly.

“Hennessy,” he replied. “Admiral Hennessy.”

***

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sort of forgot exactly how this ended? Sorry for the minor cliffhanger. I had intended on writing another sequel but honestly by the end of this my brain was a bit burnt out on it. Anyways barring that, I hope everyone enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed creating it, and if you read the first part as well then I hope you enjoyed it in its entirety. <3


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